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THE    BORDERLAND 


BY   THE   SAME   AUTHOR 
THE   DRUMS    OF    FATE 

SOME  PRESS  OPINIONS 

"  One  of  the  finest  tales  of  London  life;which  has  been  written  for  years."— i»/omm{ 
Leader. 

"  Since  '  'Liza  of  Lambeth  '  was  written,  nothing  so  poignant  as  '  The  Drums  of 
Fate '  has  been  given  to  literature.  It  has  just  that  rare  quaUty  which  endeared 
Didcens  to  his  readers." — Daily  Express. 

"  A  masterpiece  of  characterization." — Saturday  Review. 

"  A  novel  of  force  and  originaUty.  Mr.  Halifax  knows  what  he  is  talking  about, 
and  this  tale  of  mean  streets  draws  you  down  to  the  '  thoughts  that  bum  Uke  iron 
when  you  thirst.'  If  anything,  the  tale  is  too  clever  ;  but  read  it.  The  roll  of  the 
drums  will  stir  you." — Daily  News. 

"  Delicious— maddening— haunting  Jo !  ...  A  city  tragedy,  told  by  a  man 
who  has  genius  in  him,  and  has  drawn  that  rare  thing — a  portrait  of  a  woman  who 
was  a  sinner." — Public  Opinion. 

"  The  pathos  of  such  existence  has  seldom  been  so  truthfully  represented  in 
iterature  before.    It  is  all  so  natural." — Bristol  Times  and  Mirror. 

"  This  remarkable  book  of  tears  and  laughter." — Star. 

"  For  the  individual  characters  we  have  nothing  but  the  highest  praise.  From 
an  artistic  point  of  view  they  soar  high,  and  we  heartily  congratulate  Mr.  HaUfax 
on  his  latest  creation.  We  look  forward  to  good  work  from  his  pen." — Literary 
World. 

"  If  you  want  to  read  a  book  quite  out  of  the  common,  read  '  The  Drums  of  Fate.' 
Jo  GaUlee  is  as  original  as  any  petticoat  that  has  flitted  across  the  fiction  of  the 
twentieth  century." — "  Dagonet,"  in  the  Referee. 

"Touched  with  the  genuine  humour  of  the  London  streets." — Daily  Telegraph. 

"  It  is  a  positive  pleasure  to  come  across  such  a  clever,  powerful,  original  novel  as 
this.  We  have  seldom  seen  a  study  of  greater  fideUty,  pathos,  and  mingled  humour." 
— BookseUer. 

"  A  striking,  a  luminous,  a  clever  study.  A  well-written  book,  ful  of  convincing 
tmth."— Liverpool  Daily  Post. 


THE   GRIP    OF    GOLD 

"  Most  readers  will  remember  that  clever  novel, '  The  Drums  of  Fate,'  with  which 
Mr.  Halifax  made  such  a  success  a  short  time  ago.  In  '  The  Grip  of  Gold,'  he  shows 
that  his  power  is  by  no  means  on  the  wane.  //  is  a  story  full  of  human  intetest,  told 
with  a  realistic  touch  that  grips  the  attention  at  once.  '  The  Grip  of  Gold  '  should  do 
much  to  enhance  Mr.  Halifax's  reputation  as  a  novelist." — The  Queen. 

"  There  is  abundant  material  in  '  The  Grip  of  Gold  '  for  two  sensational  novels, 
and  Mr.  Robert  Halifax  marshals  his  resources  so  deftly  that  the  interest  of  the  story 
never  slackens." — Daily  Graphic. 

"  The  work  of  a  clever  and  powerful  writer  who  has  the  secret  of  portraying  human 
passion  with  an  actuality  that  is  compelling.  ...  A  story  which  keeps  the  reader's 
interest  up  to  a  liigh  pitch  from  opening  to  finish." — Nottingham  Guardian. 

"  A  book  of  large  ideas,  of  real  thought  and  imagination." — Morning  Leader. 

"  A  capital  story,  well  told." — Layman. 

"  Makes  excellent  reading." — Daily  News. 

"  A  clever  and  well  written  story." — Bookseller. 

"  Will  hold  the  reader  in  a  grip  of  its  own  till  the  last  knot  is  loosed."— Lj/^rary 
World. 

"  Full  of  exciting  situations— a  thrill,  indeed,  from  beginning  to  end."— Dat/v 
Express.  ' 


THE    BORDERLAND 


By 

ROBERT  HALIFAX 

Author  of  "The  Drums  of  Fate.' 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  &  CO. 
I9I2 


BUTLSK  ft  TaNNKII, 

Thb  Sblwood  Printing  Works, 
Fromb,  AMD  London. 


CHAPTER    I 

IN  the  dying  mellow  light  of  a  September 
evening,  at  a  date  recent  enough  for  all 
who  love  the  truth  and  their  fellow  men, 
a  man  and  a  woman  came  to  a  pause  in  one 
of  the  streets  Unking  Hoxton  with  the  long 
Kingsland  Road. 

"  Anything  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Miss  Val- 
jean,  with  sudden  rich  interest  in  the  position. 

"  Nothing,"  John  Laverock  answered,  with 
determination  to  match. 

"  Oh  !  I  was  afraid  you  might  have  missed 
your  purse — or  thought  better  of  it." 

*'  Better  of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  what  ?  "  She  prodded  the  kerb  line 
with  her  umbrella  tip  dehcately,  her  head  at 
a  critical  angle.  "  Of  your  splendid  intention 
of  sweeping  London  clean  in  six  months — 
beginning  with  Hoxton." 

"  That's  cruel,"  he  said,  his  arms  slowly 
folding.     "  That's  as  cruel  as  feminine." 

"  Not  at  all.  It  being  arranged  that  you 
were  to  take  up  Louis'  mantle  in  London, 
while  he  donned  yours  in  Hertfordshire, 
naturally,  of  course,  it  was  my  woman's  part 


2228990 


6  THE  BORDERLAND 

to  show  you  where  and  how  he  had  worked. 
And  so — here  we  are." 

**  Is  that  how  you  assisted  your  brother, 
Miss  Valjean  ?  I  mean,  did  you  adopt  that 
attitude  when  you  went  from  house  to  house 
with  him  ?  " 

"  I  never  went — not  quite  into  the  houses 
— or  very  seldom,"  she  said,  softly  majestic. 
Her  umbrella-tip  had  worked  quite  a  nice 
groove  between  the  kerb  and  pavement. 
**  Not  that  I — I  mean,  women's  clothes  are 
different  from  men's,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  are,"  he  admitted,  his 
mouth  still  set.  She  had  not  yet  asked  him 
why  his  type  of  man  almost  invariably 
eschewed  moustaches  and  yet  wore  full  heads 
of  hair.     "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  "  she  echoed.  "  Louis  was  per- 
fectly sanguine  until  his  health  broke  down. 
Aren't  you  ?  "  And  now  she  had  to  look  up 
at  him,  and  the  blood  showed  in  her  white- 
lily  cheeks  a  little.  "  Don't  be  silly,"  she 
said.  "  What  I  mean  is,  that  they  are  all 
staring  at  you.  We  don't  stand  in  these 
streets  taking  mental  snap-shots,  whatever 
you  do  in  your  Hertfordshire  lanes." 

He  looked  around.  His  tall,  fighting,  free- 
striding  figure,  beside  the  dainty  woman's, 
had  undeniably  riveted  interest.  Women 
with  great  arms  and  shameless  full  bosoms 
leaned  over  railings  to  take  his  measure  and 


THE   BORDERLAND  7 

compare  estimates.  Battalions  of  children 
had  concentrated  in  a  staring  semi-circle 
unpleasantly  close,  and  men  smoking  in  door- 
ways seemed  moodily  sanguine  of  develop- 
ments. Miss  Valjean  they  knew,  of  course, 
and  sniffed  the  air  when  she  occasionally 
parsed  that  way,  leaving  a  trail  of  scent. 
But  absolute  newcomers,  pausing  here,  would 
as  a  matter  of  course  look  to  be  expectorated 
upon  from  one  or  two  points  of  vantage. 

"  Are  you  saved,  Mrs.  Mucklehom  ? " 
earnestly  inquired  one  lady  of  another  at  a 
high  window  opposite. 

"  Shaved  ?  " 

"  Saved,  I  said.    Don't  be  rude." 

"  Oh,  I  dunno  yet,"  was  the  reply.  *'  I 
ain't  in  the  blanket  fund  yet." 

"  Ah,  then  it's  you  they're  after.  Let  your 
hair  down  and  rub  your  eyes." 

"  Has  Louis  visited  in  this  street  at  all  ?  " 
John  Laverock  asked  of  Miss  Valjean.  He 
had  not  flinched,  but  he  certainly  had  the 
look  of  a  man  suddenly  asked  to  plough  a 
field  of  lava. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Her  lips  were  twitching 
curiously.  "  For  quite  a  long  time,  I  fancy. 
But  I  believe  he  recognized  that  only  one  sort 
of  thing  seems  to  grow  in  this  atmosphere. 
Suppose  we  were  to  walk  back  to  the  Kings- 
land  end  and  take  the  next  turning  down  into 
Hoxton  ?  " 


8  THE   BORDERLAND 

She  moved,  and  he  followed — not  too  grace- 
fully, because  the  children  were  revolving  in 
a  circle  about  them.  Some  of  the  expressions 
of  regret  sent  after  them  were  of  a  nature  that 
apparently  contained  as  much  condensed  local 
humour  as  those  chalked  at  intervals  upon 
the  pavement.  And  John  Laverock  seemed 
to  expect  the  woman  at  his  side  to  bear  that 
as  easily  as  himself. 

"  It  was  much  the  same  down  in  Hert- 
fordshire," he  explained  to  her,  quietly. 
"  On  the  surface,  you  might  believe  that  no- 
thing is  sacred — nothing  accomplished — after 
twenty  centuries  of  the  leaven  of  Christian 
purity.  The  church  was  fairly  full  on  Sun- 
days, but  the  people  swore  and  poached  on 
Monday — if  not  before.  And  there  it  is — 
the  great  problem  put  before  all  thinking  men 
of  to-day.  Is  progress  real  ?  Is  the  world 
better  at  base  than  it  was  two  thousand  years 
ago  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  Miss  Valjean  said.  "  Be- 
cause men  and  women  are  precisely  in  the 
same  awkward  position  now  as  then — born 
with  their  moral  compass-needle  always  point- 
ing in  the  direction  that  they  are  warned  they 
must  not  follow." 

"  Born  in  sin — yes  !  " 

"  Not  at  all.  Motherhood  is  sacred, 
because  sanctioned  by  God,"  she  said,  with 
cold,    silencing    decision.      Once    again    he 


THE   BORDERLAND  9 

fancied  that  this  sister  of  Louis  Valjean 
deliberately  took  up  a  challenging  attitude 
to  draw  him — to  remind  him  that,  although 
an  enthusiast,  he  was  first  and  foremost  a 
thing  of  flesh  and  blood  like  herself. 

They  were  back  in  the  main  road.  The 
great  electric  cars  swung  by  like  stately 
armour-clads  at  sea  ;  cyclists  careered  in  their 
track  ;  the  nightly  feverish  rush  from  City  to 
suburbs  was  in  full  swing.  It  made  John 
Laverock  feel  a  very  small  fighting  unit. 
He  had  it  in  him  to  stand  out  like  a  gladiator, 
but  in  this  vast  arena,  filled  with  the  roar  of 
indefinite  sound,  individual  effort  seemed 
numbed. 

All  of  it  Miss  Valjean  knew.  From  day  to 
day  she  had  watched.  His  very  thoroughness 
and  clean-shaven  resoluteness  kept  her  mouth 
in  a  constant  twitch  hard  to  conceal.  He 
was  something  entirely,  fascinatingly  fresh 
and  new — so  different  from  Louis,  who  had 
no  theories  and  who  accepted  Hoxton  and 
the  world  around  as  it  was.  He  seemed  to 
want  to  put  out  his  hands — fine,  strong  hands 
— and  arrest  the  living  chain  as  it  passed,  and 
deliver  his  message  to  each  slippery  link  in 
turn.  At  any  rate,  his  span  of  tenure  in 
London,  as  a  worker  in  the  Christian  Brother- 
hood Mission,  promised  to  be  full  of  excite- 
ment. 

"  This  way,"  she  said  archly.     "  It  was  a 


10  THE  BORDERLAND 

great  mistake  to  stop  as  you  did,  but  it  cannot 
be  helped.  If  there's  the  smallest  weak  spot  in 
one's  armour,  these  people  find  it  and  keep  it." 

"Then  I'll  go  back."  He  drew  up,  his 
grey  eyes  looking  down  at  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  now.  Besides,  it  is  really 
quite  sufficient  for  a  night  or  so  if  you  grasp 
some  real  idea  of  the  streets  and  the  people. 
You  cannot  hope — oh,  I  say !  "  She  put  a 
finger  tentatively  to  her  lips,  glanced  furtively, 
and  sank  her  voice  breathlessly.  "  Don't 
look  round ■:  I  do  believe  that  is  the  man 
whom  Louis  said  was  beyond  any  man's  power 
to  reclaim — the  man  who  never  dared  to  come 
out  in  daylight.     It  is  ! — Ben  Fisher  !  " 

Naturally  John  Laverock  wheeled  round 
at  once.  Ben  glared  wolfishly  back.  At 
the  moment  his  face,  hairless  and  flabbily 
white,  certainly  suggested  a  prolonged  diet 
of  buttered  toast  taken  in  a  dark  cellar. 
Big,  bald,  inert,  his  dough-like  flesh  seemed 
to  invite  a  finger-pressure.  But  it  was  a 
libel  to  claim  that  he  never  came  out  in 
daylight — merely  a  woman's  way  of  saying 
that  he  had  no  fixed  habits.  And  he 
boasted  none.  That  work  evaded  him  so  per- 
sistently was  happily  balanced  by  the  fact 
that  his  wife,  so  much  smaller  and  hence 
more  wiry  and  active,  had  more  offers  of 
employment  than  she  could  humanly  accept. 
Ben  Fisher  had  migrated  from  Islington  way 


THE  BORDERLAND  ii 

into  Hoxton  a  year  or  so  ago  with  something 
of  a  reputation  ;  but  Hoxton  could  assimilate 
anything  in  that  line  without  moral  dyspepeia. 

Miss  Valjean  had  been  whispering — no  doubt 
with  the  best  intentions.  Not  knowing  them, 
Ben  thought  it  the  moment  to  remark  audibly 
to  a  man  at  his  elbow  that  some  interfering 
so-and-so's  would  be  locked  up  if  they  spoke 
out  loud. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  John  Laverock  asked 
straightly.  A  man's  character  is  written 
all  over  him  in  a  hundred  different  ways  for 
any  one  who  cares  to  see  ;  and  he  had  known 
his  man  at  a  glance,  and  saw  an  opportunity. 

"  Jest  private.  Nothin'."  Ben  tilted  the 
bowler  hat  that  rested  upon  his  ears.  "  On'y 
tellin'  my  pal  that  if  I  don't  like  a  man  I  make 
no  bones  about  it.  I  bash  him  one  in  the  neck." 

"  You  do  ?  But  not  just  because  he's  a 
man  who  asks  only  to  be  allowed  to  do  a  little 
good  in  the  world — eh  ?  Come  !  I've  heard 
of  you.  I've  taken  Mr.  Valj can's  place  in 
Hoxton  for  a  time,  and  we  may  as  well  be 
friends  as  enemies.  Yes,  you  and  I.  Shake 
hands !  " 

Ben  looked  at  his  pal,  and  down  at  the 
hand.  "  Decent  fin,"  he  said,  a  little  lamely. 
*'  Never  done  much  work,  has  it  ?  Oh,  I  see  !  " 
He  became  heavily  truculent.  "  You're 
another  talkee-talkee.  Well,  don't  get  comin' 
into   my  old  woman's  place — number  five. 


12  THE   BORDERLAND 

Jest  leave  the  tracts  on  the  top  step,  as  I 
told  the  other  bloke.  That's  all  I've  got  to 
say  to  you." 

"  Are  you  in  work  now  ?  "  John  Laverock 
asked,  with  a  puzzling  intentness. 

"  Me  ?  "  Ben  resented  this  as  a  distinct 
side-issue.  "  Look  'ere,  if  you're  comin'  any 
capers  down  here " 

"  Because  I  can  get  you  some,  if  not.  That's 
a  fair  offer  now." 

Up  and  down  him  Ben  looked,  and  round 
at  the  grinning  faces,  and  was  reduced  to 
spitting.  "  Well,  you've  made  a  good  lead- 
off,  anyhow,"  he  said.  He  filled  his  pipe 
slily.  "  If  I  start,  the  old  woman  '11  leave 
off,  won't  she  ?  "  he  asked,  with  winking 
acumen.  He  lit  up.  "  Work,  eh  ?  Call 
agin.  If  it's  a  foreman's  job,  near  no  gas- 
works, I'll  let  you  know,"  he  decided.  "  We 
don't  owe  no  rent  yet." 

"  WeU,"  John  Laverock  said,  gravely  smil- 
ing, "  you've  had  your  thrust  at  me,  and  you 
may  have  many  more  before  I  say  goodbye. 
But,  mind  you — "  he  put  his  hand  on  Ben's 
shoulder,  and  let  him  feel  the  grip  of  a  man 
who  had  no  right  to  a  grip — "  we  start  level 
now.  There's  as  much  '  devil '  in  me  as  in 
you,  and  there's  as  much  power  for  good  in 
you  as  in  me.  You're  not  going  to  use  your 
devilment  against  the  Mission  man's  efforts 
for  good,  are  you — plainly  ?  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  13 

•  Dunno  so  much,"  Ben  muttered,  darkly 
vague,  the  slits  over  his  small  eyes  nearly 
closed.     "  You  say  you're  a  parson," 

"  Not  a  bit.  We  believe  in  taking  hold  of 
a  man's  hand  and  helping  him  through.  If 
I  knock  at  a  man's  door  it's  not  to  preach, 
but  to  see  if  he  needs  any  help." 

"  Well,  I  can  see  you  gettin'  fat  down  our 
street,"  Ben  summed  up,  to  reverse  the  laugh. 
"  When  does  this  start  ?  " 

"  You  know."  John  Laverock  watched 
him  with  the  same  keen,  analytical  smile. 
"  That's  al]  I  had  to  say,  and  I  mean  it.  Good- 
night !  "     And  he  strode  on. 

With  parted  lips,  and  skirts  held  as  in 
readiness  for  flight.  Miss  Valjean  had 
watched. 

"  How  you  could  have  touched  him !  " 

she  breathed  severely,  as  they  moved  on. 
"  I  told  you — I  told  you  that  they  say  if  the 
last  policeman  who  was  killed  down  this  next 
street  could  have  lived  long  enough  to 
speak " 

**  Enough  !  "  he  put  in  quietly.  "If  I 
stopped  to  realize  all  that  my  eyes  and  ears 
have  shown  me  already,  I  should  picture  Hell 
as  full  long  before  the  doors  of  Heaven  open. 
I'm  not  going  to.     Down  here  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  All  right — he  shall  go  on,"  she 
seemed  to  add  to  herself. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE  street  they  had  turned  into  was 
almost  an  exact  rephca  of  PhilHmore 
Street  lower  down — baffling  to  anybody  not 
steeped  in  its  atmosphere  and  traditions. 
Like  Phillimore  Street,  and  half  a  score  of 
others  that  ran  parallel,  it  had  apparently  its 
own  society  circle,  and  resented  intrusion. 
Full-bosomed  ladies  craned  from  windows 
and  exchanged  marital  confidences  with 
similar  ladies  opposite,  while  the  husbands 
concerned  brooded  in  the  doorways  over  mugs 
of  beer,  and  the  offspring  of  both  bandied 
stones  and  imprecations  as  a  relief  from  irk- 
some daily  bounds  imposed  by  the  Council 
schools. 

The  State  had  done  its  allotted  part — given 
just  the  pound  of  flesh  demanded  of  it.  The 
pavements  were  decently  kept,  the  street- 
lamps  in  order,  and  the  houses  in  fair  repair. 
If  the  trail  of  reckless  personal  neglect,  verbal 
filth  and  animalism  was  over  all,  it  was 
doubtless  because  the  State  considered  its 
duty  extended  only  to  the  inanimate,  and  left 
the    animate   to  look    after    itself.     If    the 


THE   BORDERLAND  15 

Church,  too,  had  signally  failed  here  in  all  but 
estabHshing  fuel  and  maternity  funds,  it  was 
because  a  religion  that  demanded  decency, 
humility,  and  other  restrictions  seemed  so 
derisively  superfluous,  when  the  public-houses 
always  remained  as  an  alternative  to  prosy 
places  of  worship.  So,  just  conceivably,  it 
remained  for  a  few  determined  workers  on 
new  methods,  like  Louis  Valjean,  to  succeed 
where  Church  and  State  had  failed  utterly. 

"  Here  we  are — Hoxton  Street !  " 

Miss  Valjean  said  it  in  a  voice  of  hushed 
thankfulness.  She  had  been  repressing  a 
tense  shudder — a  feeling  as  though  her  lace- 
trimmed  skirts  were  carrying  along  the  moral 
garbage.  Hoxton  Street  itself — to  the  eye, 
although  not  in  respect  to  police  records — 
was  so  different. 

Shaped  like  a  fat  bottle  with  a  narrow  neck 
at  either  extreme,  it  was  lined  almost  from 
end  to  end  of  its  great  length  with  heaped-up 
stalls,  and  the  marketing  public  that  flocked 
in  from  all  the  surrounding  areas  was  a 
golden  goose  which  demanded  consideration. 
Over  those  narrow  streets  that  branched  off 
from  the  right — some  silently  sinister,  some 
swarming  with  life,  all  highly  speculative  from 
the  Great  Architect's  point  of  view— dusk 
had  just  thrown  a  merciful  veil. 

Here,  if  you  remembered  your  pockets, 
and  did  not  appear  too  conscious  or  curious, 


i6  THE  BORDERLAND 

you  could  thread  a  perfectly  safe  way,  tempted 
by  original  invitations  to  purchase  at  one  of 
the  most  economical  and  varied  ready-money 
markets  even  London  has  to  show. 

"  I  say,  ma,  what  a  lovely  sunset !  And 
here's  the  old  hen  been  and  laid  all  brown  eggs 
with  double  yolks  again  !  "  .  .  .  "  Now's 
your  time  to  get  married,  my  dear.  What 
price  my  honeymoon  bacon  at  six-and-half  a 
pun'  ?"...**  Have  that  half  shoulder, 
lovey.  There's  only  one  to  beat  it — that's 
yours.  All  English  meat — threepence. 
Sold  again  to  a  Duke's  lady !".... 
"  Now,  then,  gels,  this  little  lot  o'  Dover  plaice 
— and  one  in  for  the  baby,  if  you've  got  one. 
If  you  ain't,  that's  your  fault,  not  mine. 
Ninepence — fourpence — twopence  !  Ruined 
again  !  " 

The  naphtha  lamps  flared  up.  The  crowd 
thickened.  The  hubbub  deepened.  John 
Laverock  and  Miss  Valjean,  keeping  to  the 
centre  of  the  cobbled  roadway,  had  walked 
slowly  to  the  "  Britannia  "  end  of  Hoxton 
and  turned  back.  From  time  to  time  Httle 
flashes  of  excitement  arose,  to  fizz  out  with 
almost  equal  stupefying  swiftness.  A  pubUc- 
house  door  swung  :  a  man  had  "  had  a  word  " 
with  his  wife — or  some  other  man's  wife.  A 
few  quickening  oaths,  a  sudden  blow,  a  scream, 
a  shouting,  a  dive  down  one  of  the  dark 
refuge-alleys— and   all   was   over.     It   takes 


THE  BORDERLAND  17 

something  definitely  dramatic  to  arouse 
Hoxton. 

"  Keep  calm,"  John  Laverock  said,  as  he 
held  Miss  Valjean  close  to  him  for  a  thrilling 
instant.  A  covey  of  shoeless,  fearless,  swear- 
ing little  Britons  were  in  full  flight  past  them 
after  a  successful  raid  upon  the  rear  of  some 
stall.  "  As  only  the  strongest  can  survive 
here,  their  nerves  are  perfect.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  social  scale,  you  see,  the  hothouse 
atmosphere  breeds  neurotics.  Between  the 
extremes  is  the  safe  buffer  of  the  vast  class 
that  lives  steadily  on  in  order  that  it  may  die 
respected.    The  thing  is " 

"  Yes ;  the  thing  is,"  Miss  Valjean  said, 
as  he  paused,  "  did  God  contemplate  this 
submerged  horror — all  the  submerged  horrors 
— when  He  created  the  scheme  of  Life  ?  " 

She  was  holding  his  sleeve  tightly,  as  she 
tried  to  look  along  one  of  those  narrow  streets 
now  on  their  left  hand.  She  had  caught  an 
indefinite  sound  as  of  running  feet  and  stran- 
gled voices,  suggesting  suppressed  tragedy, 
down  there ;  but  it  was  all  enigmatical  again, 
overwhelmed  by  the  strident  roar  of  Hoxton's 
market.  To  her,  each  of  those  semi-silent, 
coffin-hke  thoroughfares  was  a  seething  caul- 
dron, from  which  the  lid  was  partly  lifted  now 
and  again.  To  go  down  there — to  live  down 
there.  .  .  . 

"  I   should  give  one   scream,"   she    said 

B 


i8  THE   BORDERLAND 

slowly.  "  I  should  put  both  hands  to  my 
head  and  ask  Heaven  to  take  me.  But 
think  ! — think  of  women  whose  womanhood 
survives  down  there  !  " 

''  No,  think  of  ourselves  who  expect  it  to 
survive." 

"  Think  of  the  men  who — there,  come 
along  !  " 

She  bit  her  lip  upon  a  smile — so  deeply 
the  man  had  been  made  to  look  down  into 
her  eyes  for  that  moment.  He  must  think 
what  he  must*  He  ought  to  divine  that  the 
sense  of  humour  had  leaped  treacherously 
at  her  tragic  note  and  stifled  it.  His  own  grey 
eyes  had  withstood  every  test  hitherto  ;  but 
she  was  not  yet  quite  convinced  that  any 
normal  physical  man  could  be  lastingly 
superior  to  the  first  Adam  of  all. 

A  diversion  occurred.  A  piano-organ  drew 
abruptly  up  beside  them,  and  round  went  the 
handle.  As  if  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hoxton  had 
given  his  magic  call,  out  poured  the  human 
rats.  They  sprang  as  from  nowhere,  and 
seemed  to  fall  into  step  at  a  point  broken  off 
the  day  before.  Dirty  feet  twinkled  in  the 
air,  small  skirts  shook,  knees  were  twisted 
on  a  level  with  the  nose — all  in  one  minute 
the  street  centre  was  transformed  into  a 
"  dancing  "  stage,  every  performer  divinely 
insouciant,  and  all  supremely  superior  to 
erratic  changes  rung  upon  the  music. 


THE   BORDERLAND  19 

Then — pouf  1 

The  man  turning  the  handle  paused,  looked 
round  for  remuneration,  saw  none  in  sight — 
when  was  there  ever  any  to  be  seen  ? — and 
moved  abruptly  on.  The  human  rats  had 
vanished  before  one  could  draw  breath. 
John  Laverock  looked  at  Miss  Valjean, 
laughed,  and  moved  on.  Comedy  and  tragedy 
are  so  closely  interwoven  in  Hoxton  that  to 
disentangle  them  would  be  a  hopeless  task 
for  any  one  with  a  sense  of  pity  and  proportion. 

"  I  think  we  must  have  been  nearly  all 
along  one  edge  of  the  crater,"  Miss  Valjean 
said  demurely.  "  Then  to-morrow,  you 
know,  you  can  begin  your  work  in  grim  earnest. 
I  hope  there  will  not  be  any  eruptions,"  she 
tacked  on,  with  her  delicate  little  cough. 

"  What  is  it  you  mean  ?  "  the  man  asked, 
a  trifle  coldly. 

"  Well,  you  see,  one  can  be  too  enthusiastic 
— too  sure  of  one's  self.  My  last  words  to 
Louis  at  the  station  were  that,  in  trying  to 
save  others  he  had  come  near  losing  himself. 
A  trifle  mixed,  I  know ;  but  women  always 
are  in  argument.  Look  at  those  cheap 
tomatoes." 

He  looked.  He  had  been  clearing  his  throat 
to  say  that  the  mute  antagonism  between 
them — her  and  himself,  not  the  tomatoes — 
might  as  well  find  its  vent  to-night.  But  he 
hesitated,  and  the  opportunity  slipped.    And 


20  THE  BORDERLAND 

upon  such  small  facts  do  mighty  issues 
hinge. 

Through  the  hubbub  had  come  suddenly 
a  note  of  appealing  incongruity.  A  ring  of 
Salvation  Army  lasses,  with  clean,  rapt 
faces  and  clasped  hands,  had  burst  into 
"  Abide  with  Me,"  no  rats,  however,  being 
conjured  up  by  the  slow  time.  Miss  Valjean 
would  have  floated  by  with  dignified  tolera- 
tion, but  John  Laverock  halted.  Purposely 
or  involuntarily  ?  He  never  knew.  His 
quick  artistic  perceptions  had  framed  a  pic- 
ture. He  was  only  a  man,  and  he  had  seen 
a  Face.  No  man  can  say  at  what  moment 
his  heart  shall  pump  double  time  without 
warning. 

Annoyed,  Miss  Valjean  refused  to  whisper 
a  second  time,  and  moved  on.  He  stood 
quite  still,  outwardly  normal,  inwardly  lost. 
Reluctant  admiration  wrestled  with  tentative 
awe  and  misgiving.  As  he  looked  at  that 
face,  he  seemed  to  be  peering  through  dark 
windows  for  the  mystery  of  a  woman's  soul. 
The  woman  had  looked  back  at  him,  and 
seemed  slowly,  scornfully,  to  draw  down  the 
blinds. 

She  was  in  the  centre  of  the  singing  circle — 
a  passive  prisoner — one  with  them,  yet  apart. 
In  deadliest  tranquillity  she  seemed  to  chal- 
lenge her  Hoxton  acquaintances  to  jeer  at 
her  role  as  potential  penitent  to-night.     Her 


THE  BORDERLAND  21 

slip  of  a  figure  was  frail  to  consumption- 
point,  but  he  had  not  grasped  that  fact  yet. 
Out  from  her  small,  tea-rose-yellow  face 
looked  the  two  turquoise  eyes — eyes  slightly 
filmed,  yet  consciously  fathomless.  Perhaps 
no  one  else  had  ever  thought  so,  but  it  struck 
the  man  curiously  as  the  work  of  an  artist 
who  had  begun  to  model  a  Madonna  and 
changed  it  into  a  Delilah  with  a  few  subtle 
touches. 

Yet  she  was  palpably  a  product  of  the  slums. 
Her  wax-like  small  fingers,  not  clean,  were 
heavy  with  apparently  cheap  rings.  Her 
amber  hair,  with  its  chestnut  tint,  was  drawn 
in  two  curtain-like  waves  low  over  her  ears. 
Without  that  depth  in  her  eyes — that  stillness 
as  of  a  volcano  believed  to  be  dead,  but  alive 
far  below — she  would  have  been  a  colourless 
doll,  absurd  in  her  theatrical  assumption  of 
Cleopatran  dignity.  He  told  himself  that 
she  was  a  mere  girl  with  a  mind  more  mature 
than  his  own. 

"  Abide  with  Me  "  was  ended.  One  of  the 
lasses  stepped  out,  and  seemed  to  communi- 
cate with  Heaven  for  a  moment,  her  eyes 
ecstatically  closed.  Then — "  O  Lord  of  us 
all !  "  she  called,  beautifully  clear,  **  look 
down  once  more  upon  Hoxton.  Bring  light 
into  all  its  dark  places.  We  ask  it  yet  again 
to-night.  Do  what  men  cannot — and  will 
not.     Help  every  selfish  man  to  realize  his 


22  THE  BORDERLAND 

manhood  and  master  the  baser  instincts 
within  him ;  help  every  weak  woman  to 
know  that  for  her  the  price  of  sin  is  shame 
here  and  hereafter.  Help  we  lasses  to  prove 
it  by  practice,  and  not  by  precept.  O 
Lord,  let  us  all  know  the  sweet  sleep  of  a  day 
purely  spent — and  at  last  of  a  life  lived  for 
the  world's  betterment.  The  brothers  who 
mock  us,  the  sisters  who  scorn  us,  bless  them 
all!'* 

A  hushed  pause.  The  man  had  bent  his 
head.  His  nerves  had  tingled  dully  ;  it  was 
as  if  she  had  known  that,  all  unawares,  the 
impure  animal  instinct  had  taken  life  and 
writhed  in  himself  for  an  instant.  Then, 
taking  up  the  thread  of  "  Abide  with  Me," 
she  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  ring  wheeled 
into  double  line,  and  passed  on.  And  the 
girl,  whose  lips  had  not  quivered  through  it 
all,  moved  with  them — between  the  lines. 
And  the  man,  with  his  slower  stride,  followed. 

They  were  going  his  way — that  was  all. 
He  had  lost  sight  of  Miss  Valjean ;  but 
although  he  glanced  round  conscientiously 
for  her  dainty  figure  at  every  turn,  he  never 
once  lost  sight  of  the  clapping,  singing,  rap- 
turous little  throng  passing  from  Hoxton 
just  ahead,  with  the  amber  girl  between. 


CHAPTER   III 

HOXTON'S  roar  and  naphtha-glare  had 
died  behind  him.  He  could  see  the 
sky  again,  and  feel  clearer  air  upon  his  face. 
He  was  making  back  toward  Downham  Road, 
in  a  quiet  turning  out  of  which  he  had  chosen 
his  two  modest  rooms.  Miss  Valjean,  who 
had  kept  house  for  her  brother,  had  not  offered 
to  do  the  same  for  her  brother's  friend  and 
substitute. 

The  Army  lasses,  just  ahead  of  him  still, 
swung  along  now  in  "  step "  silence,  with 
signs  now  and  then  of  breaking  out  into 
"  Onward,  Christian  Soldiers  !  "  It  was  darker 
here ;  he  could  make  out  only  indistinctly 
the  figure  of  their  trophy  in  the  midst.  He 
would  have  to  stop  in  a  minute — ^in  a  minute  ; 
meanwhile,  his  limbs  carried  him  on  with  a 
lack  of  motive  which  he  was  aware  Miss 
Valjean  would  have  condemned  at  a 
glance. 

And  now  he  found  himself  once  more  out 
in  the  Kingsland  Road,  with  the  stately  cars 
gliding  north  and  south,  the  motor  'buses 
buzzing  in  and  out  like  angry  bluebottles, 

23 


24  THE  BORDERLAND 

and  the  long  northern  sweep  of  road  stretching 
like  a  jewelled  rod  far  before  him. 

The  "  Army  "  had  wheeled  to  the  left,  and, 
with  a  little  tattoo  upon  their  tambourines, 
filed  into  a  building  which  had  frankly  no 
pretence  at  architecture  or  symbolism.  It 
occurred  unexpectedly.  The  man  drew  up 
short,  aware  of  chilled  expectancy.  Doors 
had  opened  and  closed ;  the  amber  girl  was 
swept  out  of  his  sight.  It  was  Uke  a  just 
rebuff  to  his  curiosity. 

He  stood  there  for  a  time,  listening  to  the 
singing  within.  He  appeared  to  be  waiting 
for  a  car  that  never  came  by.  When,  of  a 
sudden,  he  turned  and  pushed  gently  at  the 
door  of  the  building,  he  felt  almost  as  though 
convicted  of  stealthy,  unworthy  intrusion. 
Why  ?  He  did  not  know.  He  stood,  hold- 
ing his  breath,  in  the  crude  little  vestibule. 
There  was  no  public  meeting — or,  at  least,  no 
audience.  But  on  a  platform  at  the  end  of 
the  room  stood  the  amber  girl  in  the  same 
still  attitude ;  and  around  her  in  a  circle 
knelt  the  uniformed  figures. 

"  O  Lord  !  "  arose  a  woman's  voice,  weirdly 
supplicative,  '*  complete  Thy  work !  Put 
out  Thy  hand  and  touch  the  heart  of  our 
sister  here  in  the  balances.     Do  it  now !  " 

There  was  a  murmur,  and  a  hush.  The 
world  at  his  back  seemed  shut  out.  The 
standing  girl  looked  around  upon  them,  and 


THE  BORDERLAND  25 

away  again.  It  seemed  that  some  great 
smile  was  waiting  to  dawn  on  her  lips.  But 
again  she  looked  down,  and  away. 

"  O  Lord !  "  went  up  the  same  voice  in 
unshaken  fervour,  *'  all  that  we  have  we 
yield  to  Thee  !  Gold  and  fine  raiment  are 
of  the  earth,  earthly.  For  it  is  written — 
How  can  we  serve  God  and  cling  to  Mammon  ? 
.  .  .  Smite  the  rock,  O  Lord !  Smite  the 
rock  now  !  Bid  this  our  sister  give  proof  of  her 
desire  to  turn  from  the  devil's  playground !  " 

There  was  an  electrifying  "  Lord  !  Lord  !  " 
from  the  bending  figures.  And  then  John 
Laverock  understood.  One  by  one  slowly 
the  amber  girl  took  the  rings  from  her  small 
fingers — the  brooch  from  her  throat,  the  orna- 
ment from  her  hair — and  dropped  them  with 
dramatic  dehberation  into  the  collection  plate 
beside  her.  It  was  done.  Her  fingers  clasped 
again.  He  heard  her  voice — low,  level,  just 
tinged  with  reckless  indifference. 

**  There,  then  ! — all  I've  got  in  the  world 
to-night !  " 

A  "  soldier  "  threw  back  his  head  and  out- 
stretched his  arms  as  in  ecstasy.  As  in  ecs- 
tasy, in  the  stiUness,  the  verse  strained  from 
his  lips — **  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea  !  '* 
Then  all  were  upon  their  feet.  A  crash 
of  tambourines,  and  out  swelled  a  thril- 
ling burst  of  voices — "  We're  marching  to 
Canaan  .  .  . !  '* 


26  THE   BORDERLAND 

Overwhelmed,  John  Laverock  stepped  out. 
For  an  instant,  during  the  last  pause,  he  had 
never  seemed  nearer  to  the  Sacred  Presence — 
and  now,  as  he  drew  the  door  to  behind  him, 
it  seemed  conversely  that  he  had  never  been 
eyewitness  of  anything  more  essentially  melo- 
dramatic. For  some  reason  he  set  his  teeth 
as  he  walked  away.  For  some  reason  he 
obeyed  an  impulse  and  turned  again,  to 
wait  and  see  what  happened.  And,  at  the 
end  of  only  a  few  minutes,  something  hap- 
pened. 

The  doors  had  opened,  and  a  little  knot  of 
the  "  sisters  "  surged  out.  The  amber  girl 
was  among  them.  They  seemed  to  be  plead- 
ing softly  to  her  to  stay — ^to  turn  from  some 
purpose.  He  saw  her  put  back  the  detaining 
hands,  feel  at  her  throat,  and  then  walk 
calmly  away,  leaving  them  standing  as  in 
some  shock. 

She  was  marching  in  his  direction.  His 
heart  took  another  of  those  unaccountable 
jumps — another.  Straight  before  her,  with 
half -smiling  eyes,  she  looked,  seeing  nothing. 
He  was  about  to  stand  aside  and  let  her  pass 
out  of  his  experience.  Instead,  as  she  came 
level,  he  found  himself  speaking. 

"  Pardon  me — I  wanted  to  speak  to  you, 
as  a  friend." 

She  looked  up  at  him.  The  rise  and  fall 
of  her  small  body  ceased.    The  abstraction 


THE   BORDERLAND  27 

died  out  of  her  turquoise  eyes — a  contemptu- 
ous flicker  took  its  place. 

"  You  be  damned,"  she  said,  with  quiet 
scorn.  "  You  be  damned,"  she  repeated, 
with  the  utmost  tranquilHty,  and  was  mov- 
ing on. 

For  a  moment  he  could  not  turn.  The 
man  in  him  was  stung,  as  well  as  the  en- 
thusiast. Then,  with  a  determined  pull  upon 
himself,  he  had  caught  her  up. 

"  You  did  not  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  It 
was  a  flash  of  perversity." 

"  Was  it  ? "  she  inquired,  with  another 
look  up  and  down  his  strong  figure.  "  You 
seem  to  know  me.  I  should  say  you're 
gifted.  Well  ?  "  She  folded  her  hands  and 
stood  waiting. 

"  I  know  nothing.  Quite  possibly  I  made 
a  mistake  in  thinking  that  you  were  in  trouble 
of  some  kind  ;  but  I  did  think  it.  And  when 
I  heard  you  say  in  that  room  just  now  that 
your  morsel  of  jewellery  was  all  you  had " 

He  paused.  She  had  given  an  odd  little 
laugh. 

"  You  thought  you  could  lend  me  a  bit  on 
it,  eh  ?  I  knew  I  should  fall  on  my  feet ; 
I  always  do.  Well,  here  they  are."  And 
she  held  out  her  small  hand,  with  the  rings 
and  ornaments  lumped  in  it.  "  Poor  devils  ! 
It's  about  the  tenth  time  they've  '  rescued ' 
me.  They  ought  to  know  it's  no  use.   Stickers, 


28  THE  BORDERLAND 

though,  aren't  they  ?  "  She  slipped  the  rings 
on  to  her  fingers. 

"  You — ^you  took  them  back  ?  "  he  asked, 
with  an  inward  gasp. 

"  I  did.  Wouldn't  you  ?  I  never  know 
lately  what's  comin'  into  my  mind,  you  know. 
Suddenly  thought,  '  Lor,  why  should  I  ? 
What's  the  use  ?  I'm  a  dove  to-night,  but 
a  devil  to-morrow  ? '     Where  were  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  John  Laverock  said,  intensely 
puzzled,  looking  down  at  her.  He  wanted  to 
keep  her  another  moment.  He  had  tem- 
porarily forgotten  the  crowded  cars  passing 
on  one  hand  and  the  hurrying  stream  of 
people  on  the  other.  To  look  at  her  was 
somehow  like  watching  a  baffling  little  creature 
behind  the  bars  of  a  cage.  "  If  any  one  had 
told  me  that  a  girl  could  do  such  a  flippant 
thing " 

"  Me  ?  "  She  pushed  back  his  hand  disdain- 
fully. "  I  could  do  anything,  if  I  wanted — 
anything,  now  I  don't  care  whether  I  live  or 
get  out  of  it.  Couldn't  you  ?  Why'd  you 
want  to  follow  us  from  Hoxton  this  far  ? 
You're  in  the  *  rescue  '  line,  too,  aren't  you  ? 
I  thought  so."  She  made  a  movement  as  if 
she  were  accustomed  to  hitching  shawl-ends 
together.  But  in  that  first  moment  he  had 
noticed  that  the  dress  she  wore  had  been  a 
good  one.     *'  Well,  good-night !— I'm  off." 

"  Where  to  ?  "     He  had  to  ask  it,  as  she 


THE  BORDERLAND  29 

moved.  He  knew  now  :  there  was  a  sup- 
pressed utter  recklessness  in  her  far  more 
dangerous  than  the  hysterics  of  another 
type  of  woman.  He  sHpped  up  alongside, 
his  voice  earnestly  quiet.  "It  is  not  rude- 
ness that  makes  me  ask ;  but  it  haunts  me 
to  hear  you  speak  in  that  way." 

"  Sorry  for  you,"  she  said,  with  the  same 
impenetrable  calm.  "  I  have  dreams  myself 
— a  lot,  lately.  But  you  don't  hanker  to 
be  seen  walking  up  the  Kingsland  Road  with 
me,  I'm  sure." 

"  Nonsense.  Why  ever  not  ?  We  are  all 
brothers  and  sisters  in  that  sense — or  should 
be." 

"  H'm !  You  ought  to  sleep  with  some  of 
the  people  where  I  live.  You  wouldn't  want 
a  bath  to  get  rid  of  that  idea." 

''Where  is  that  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  Don't  take  liberties  !  "  She  looked  up 
sideways  at  him  with  a  flash  such  as  he  had 
never  seen  in  a  woman's  eyes  before.  But, 
truly,  her  manner  seemed  to  change  every 
instant — the  hall-mark,  he  was  to  discover, 
of  the  girl  who  wears  her  hair  curved  low 
about  her  ears  under  a  flat  straw  hat,  and  has 
drawn  every  breath  of  her  life  from  a  London 
slum,  where  wits  are  sharpened  upon  an  ever- 
revolving  grindstone.  "  Wait  till  I  ask  you 
where  you  live  !  "     And  he  cleared  his  throat. 

**  But  don't  you  understand  ?    My  work 


30  THE  BORDERLAND 

lies  in  Hoxton  and  around.  Perhaps  you 
know  Mr.  Valjean " 

"  Comes  round  with  the  visitin'  lady — oh, 
yes,  I've  seen  the  top  of  his  hat  from  the 
landing.  He's  a  fool,  you  know,"  she  added, 
with  cold  complacency.  "  He'd  beUeve  it 
if  he  heard  the  things  they  say  behind  his  back." 

"  Well,  then,  they  will  say  them  behind 
mine.  For  I  have  taken  his  place  for  six 
months." 

"  Oh !  All  right,"  she  said,  with  sudden 
weariness  of  manner.  "Do  as  you  like.  If 
ever  you  want  a  black  eye  and  some  language, 
knock  next  door  to  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's,  down 
Phillimore  Street.  Thought  I'd  tell  you 
beforehand." 

**  You're  very  perverse,  but  I  happen  to 
think  that  you  don't  mean  a  word  of  it,"  he 
answered,  pausing.  They  had  reached  the 
bridge,  and  he  fancied  he  could  make  out 
Ben  Fisher's  hairless,  fleshy  face  under  a 
lamp  by  Canal  Street  corner  just  ahead. 
"  Good-night ! — and  perhaps  I  may  hope  to 
have  a  real  talk  to  you  one  of  these  days." 

"What  for?"  She  looked  down  at  the 
canal  water,  with  its  black  shine.  "  What 
about  ?  " 

"  About  ?  Yourself  ;  your  present  and 
future  ;  your  woman's  part  in  a  world  which 
is  mainly  what  we  make  of  it.  We  exist  for 
each  other — or  should  do." 


THE  BORDERLAND  31 

"  Sounds  all  right.  Sounds  marvellous, 
don't  it  ?  "  she  mused  absently.  "  Most  of 
the  talks  I've  had  with  men  wouldn't  do  me 
much  good." 

"  What  sort  of  men  ?  "   he  demanded. 

"  Well,  call  *em  beasts.  I  don't  know 
what  you  are,  but  I  know  what  most  are,  give 
them  their  chance  to  show  it.  Oh,  if  I'd 
chose,  I  might  have  been  a  lady  long  ago." 

"  Don't  say  that !  "  he  breathed,  strangely 
stirred  again  as  he  looked  down  at  the  amber 
aureole  around  the  small  calm  face,  which 
seemed  all  the  time  to  see  beyond  him. 

"  What  odds  ?  "  she  laughed.  "  It's  the 
truth.  I  was  in  the  chorus  for  two  months, 
and  might  have  been  at  it  till  doom  struck. 
There's  only  one  way  to  get  on  in  that  line 
unless  you're  a  genius  with  moneyed  friends ; 
you  know  that,  if  you  know  anything  at  all." 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  believe  it,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  A  woman  can  always  remain 
pure,  even  beyond  the  theatre  wings — al- 
though there  it  may  be  hardest."  And  she 
glanced  up  sideways  with  her  quick  scorn. 

"  Would  you  like  to  let  any  sister  of  yours 
try  her  luck  there  for  a  month  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Thought  so.  She'd  have  to  be  cast-iron. 
I'm  not." 

"  You "     He  paused.    The  word  stuck 

in  his  throat. 


32  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  I  came  out  of  it — that's  good  enough  for 
you,"  she  said  coldly.  "  I  might  want  to 
go  back.  I'd  sooner  do  that  than  take  on 
the  jam  factory  again.  Want  a  tip  ? — don't 
ever  touch  shop  jam." 

It  had  plunged  into  triviality  with  an  easy 
swoop.  But  a  mere  span  of  seconds  were  gone 
since  the  first  word,  and  yet  he  seemed  to 
have  known  her  a  long  time.  He  could  not 
tell  whether  he  was  more  repelled  by  her 
reckless  precocity  than  magnetized  by  her 
personality.  Assuredly  any  stray  bubble  of 
conceit  in  him  was  pricked  by  now. 

"  Tell  me  your  name  !  "  he  asked,  quite 
earnestly.    He  had  a  hand  to  his  notebook. 

"  Anything  else  ? "  She  paused,  and 
laughed  again.     "  My  name  ?    Donna  !  " 

"  Donna— what  ?  " 

"  That's  all.  Enough  for  any  one,  isn't 
it  ?    It's  aU  you'll  get." 

"  Then  I'll  say  '  good-night,'  Donna,"  he 
said,  half  sadly. 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  She  gave  him  one 
more  swift  look  up  and  down,  as  at  the 
termination  of  a  freakish  joke.  "  Good- 
night to  you  !  .  .  .  Run  /  " 

It  flashed  in  a  real  spontaneous  breath  from 
her  Ups.  He  saw  her  blanch  and  cower 
aside.  Through  the  irregular  stream  of 
hurrying  people  across  the  bridge  he  was  just 
in  time  to  note  a  figure  darting  crouchingly 


THE  BORDERLAND  33 

like  a  man  from  his  mark  in  a  sprint  race. 
It  loomed  close  with  the  swiftness  of  a  shape 
on  a  bioscopic  sheet.  His  brain  focussed 
that,  and  nothing  else.  A  sharp  agony  had 
gone  through  it,  and  momentarily  blinded 
him. 

The  blow,  aimed  as  to  blacken  his  eye,  had 
landed  on  his  temple.  Perhaps  he  had  fallen. 
He  only  knew  that  some  unknown  arm  was 
wound  beneath  him  as  a  support.  All  was 
muffled.  The  fine  cars  swung  along  like 
illuminated  ships  in  perfect  silence.  The 
sky  swam  gently.  The  voices  of  the  people 
pressing  around  him  on  all  sides  now  came  as 
from  the  bedside  of  a  dying  man. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  T  T  7  HO  was  he  ?    Do  you  know  ?    Would 
VV      you  know  him  again  ?  " 
He  looked  up  at  them  mutely.     A  deadly 
nausea,  that  he  meant  to  keep  back  at  aU 
costs,  compelled  it. 

"  Now,  then !  "  It  was  a  constable's 
voice,  a  little  less  dreamUke.  He  flashed  his 
lamp  over  the  strong,  clean-shaven  face, 
and  saw  his  mistake.  "  Give  him  some  air, 
it's  cheap  enough.  What's  the  damage, 
sir  ?  " 

**  I'm — all — right !  "  he  muttered  faintly. 
He  had  seen  the  pale,  intent,  half-malicious 
face  of  the  amber  girl  peering  through  at  him. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her.  "  I'm — all — 
right !  " 

"  H'm  !  "  The  policeman  passed  a  finger 
over  his  temple.  "  Any  one  see  it,  and 
coming  forward  ?  " 

"  See  it !  "  The  man  holding  him  was 
moved  to  a  husky  retort.  "  Hear  it,  you 
mean — hke  the  crack  of  a  whip.  It  was  all 
done  in  a  flash.  The  dirty  skunk  rushed 
past  me,  sprang  up,  smashed  in  his  blow,  and 

84 


THE  BORDERLAND  35 

greased  like  lightning — killed  him,  I  made 
sure." 

"  Yes  ?  Well,  I  can't  do  anything  except 
make  a  note  of  it." 

"  Where's  the  Law  ?  " 

"  The  Law's  right  enough.  But  the  man's 
gone." 

"  I'm— all— right  !  "  they  heard  John 
Laverock  repeat,  much  more  firmly.  The 
crowd  was  assuming  proportions. 

He  made  his  effort — ^gathered  himself  to- 
gether in  sections,  as  it  seemed — although 
his  brain  still  "  sang  "  and  his  eyes  saw  dart- 
ing shapes  everywhere.  Some  one  replaced 
the  trampled  hat  on  his  head.  Another 
good  look  at  him,  and  the  crowd  began  to 
thin.  The  constable  paced  to  and  fro  as  if 
anxious  for  the  cause  of  the  obstruction  to 
be  gone  too.  John  Laverock's  feet  started 
moving.  Walking  like  a  stiff  automaton,  he 
had  almost  regained  the  Downham  Road 
before  he  realized  what  had  happened.  Then, 
swaying  slightly,  he  swerved  about. 

As  suddenly  the  amber  girl  turned.  She 
had  been  walking  a  score  of  yards  behind 
him,  as  in  curiosity  to  see  what  befell  a  man 
who  could  survive  that  blow.  To  catch  up 
with  her — to  put  one  of  the  questions  that 
thronged  confusedly  in  his  mind — was  not 
possible.  The  majestic  rise  and  fall  of  her 
small  figure  dwindled  in  the  lamplit  distance, 


36  THE  BORDERLAND 

She  would  not  look  back — he  knew  that  by 
some  intuition  ;  she  was  piqued  at  being 
seen.  He  smiled  oddly  to  himself,  and  went 
on.  It  was  not  within  his  power  to  try  and 
fathom  the  thing — not  to-night. 

Dazedly,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  found 
himself  ringing  the  bell  at  a  house  not  his  own. 
He  had  gone  there  quite  mechanically  as  with 
a  sense  of  some  duty  to  be  done.  The  maid- 
servant stared  at  him — or,  rather,  at  his 
condition. 

**  Is  Miss  Valjean  in  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Some  time  ago,  sir.  Excuse  me,  sir,  your 
coat — your  hat " 

"  See  to  it  for  me,  will  you  ?  "  he  whispered. 
The  sickness  was  threatening  awkwardly 
again. 

She  was  a  deft  little  thing.  As  if  she  under- 
stood all,  she  assisted  him  to  the  hall  chair, 
quietly  brushed  and  reshaped  the  hat,  and 
then  whisked  the  brush  softly  round  his 
shoulders.  And  then  he  looked  up,  to  see 
the  drawing-room  door  open,  and  Miss  Val- 
jean, as  composed  and  dainty  as  if  she  had 
just  stepped  out  of  a  picture-frame,  watching 
the  proceedings  with  steadfast  interest. 

"  Is  it  finished  ?  So  this  is  '  Hoxton,'  " 
she  observed,  with  a  sweet  little  titter.  The 
small  maid  had  scuttled.  "  Aren't  you  feel- 
ing yourself  ?  "  she  inquired  pointedly,  as  he 
rose  a  little  unsteadily. 


THE   BORDERLAND  37 

He  looked  at  her.  He  was  not  thinking  of 
anything  in  particular  at  all,  and  it  was  a 
little  strange  that  two  faint  spires  of  conscious 
colour  should  run  up  her  cheeks. 

"  I  was  passing,"  he  said  dreamily. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Perhaps — perhaps  you  only 
called  in  to  see  Bede  on  this  occcision  ?  " 
Bede  was  her  invalid  brother  upstairs. 

"  I  was  passing,"  he  repeated.  Then  he 
recollected  himself,  and  steadied  his  figure. 
"  Excuse  me  !  You  got  back  home  all  right, 
then.  I  felt  a  little  uneasy,  missing  you  in 
that  street." 

*'  Really  !  "  She  bowed,  and  smoothed 
back  a  stray  hair  from  her  forehead.  '*  Strange 
I  should  think  you  had  called  in  to  say  you 
were  sorry.     You're  not,  I  can  see." 

"  What  have  I  done  ? "  he  demanded. 
But  for  his  strenuous  Hertfordshire  record 
she  would  have  known  him  to  be  half  drunk. 

"  Nothing  at  aU." 

"  Then — then  why  do  you  look  at  me  in  that 
fixed  way.  Miss  Valjean  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  silly.  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 
She  got  it  out  with  a  little  tremble,  and  bit 
her  lips.  His  voice  had  sounded  thick  staccato, 
and  was  usually  so  grave  and  clear.  "  At 
least,  there  is  no  occasion  to  stand  in  that 
way — with  your  hat  on." 

She  swept  back  into  the  room.  Shaded 
candles    burned    in    sconces,    gossamer-lace 


38  THE  BORDERLAND 

curtains  hung  like  ethereal  films,  and  all  was 
the  essence  of  comfort  and  exquisite  taste, 
tempting  to  the  mind  and  the  body  alike. 
John  Laverock  had  followed  stiffly.  She 
half  turned,  standing  still  to  look  at  him  as 
a  woman  looks  when  she  wishes  fervently 
she  had  the  freedom  of  a  man's  tongue.  It 
was  absurd — everything  was  absurd  to  a 
degree  to-night.  He  had  sat  in  this  room 
with  Louis  and  herself — and  again  with  her 
alone,  listening  to  her  piano-playing — fully 
a  dozen  times.  Yet  he  was  looking  around 
it  now  as  if  it  were  aggressively  new  to  him. 
His  eyes  were  even  turned  down  to  the  carpet 
into  which  his  feet  had  sunk.  Something 
had  swelled  ready  in  her  throat  as  he  spoke. 
It  remained  suspended  for  a  minute. 

"  No,  we're  not  honest — any  of  us.  Not 
sincere  !  " 

Bitterly,  deliberately,  it  was  spoken.  Down 
he  sat,  a  pale  hand  to  his  eyes — the  hat  stiU 
on. 

There  was  a  pause,  so  deep  that  the  hum 
of  London  ringed  about  them  took  a  sound 
suggesting  the  distant  drone  of  myriad  bees. 

Then — "  Whatever  might  you  mean  ?  " 
she  asked  rigidly. 

"  You  know !  "  Beneath  his  hand  he 
looked  across  at  her.  "  I  know  it,  too.  We 
don't  try  to  reaHze  it,  for  the  sake  of  our  own 
bodily  ease  ;  but  the  sincerity  of  our  professed 


THE  BORDERLAND  39 

religion  is  only  on  the  surface.  Yes  !  If  it 
were  not  so — if  we  really  tried  to  follow 
Christ,  who  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head — 
we  could  not  live  from  day  to  day  in  such 
superfluous  comfort  as — as  this.  We  could 
not !  "  he  repeated,  almost  fiercely. 

"  You  begin,  then,"  Miss  Valjean  whispered, 
ironically  sympathetic.  "  Sell  your  furniture 
— the  clothes  you  have  on — and  set  the 
great  example.     You  begin  !  " 

He  had  not  heard.  Something — perhaps 
that  night's  shock — had  turned  on  a  whim- 
sical or  rebelUous  current  in  his  brain  not  to 
be  dammed  by  mere  woman's  sarcasm. 

"  I  feel  it ;  I  have  always  felt  it.  Take 
Hoxton  !  It  has  a  complete  human  answer 
to  the  men  who  preach  God  to  it.  The 
successful  men  in  the  Church  live  in  personal 
ease  and  comfort,  thereby  stultifying  all  they 
have  urged  from  the  pulpit.  The  most 
successful  of  all  are  wealthy  men,  who  live 
as  such.  And  yet  the  Christ  on  the  Cross 
they  represent  and  hold  up  before  Hox- 
ton  "     He  paused,  drawing  in  breath  to 

check  the  surge  of  bitterness.  "I'm  sorry," 
he  said,  more  quietly.  "  But  if  I  am  merely 
honest,  I  must  always  know  that  no  sincere 
man  could  enjoy  superfluities  while  around 
him  were  people  wanting  necessaries — starv- 
ing even  in  body  or  soul — women  stitching 
away  their  sight  and  maternal  powers  for  a 


40  THE  BORDERLAND 

few  pence  per  day ;  while  the  infant  death- 
roll  in  the  neighbouring  slum  averaged  i8o 
per  1,000  all  the  year  round." 

"  And  no  sincere  woman,  of  course  !  "  she 
whispered.  "It  is  all  quite  true.  Go  on  ! 
You  may  be  quite  frank,  since  you  are  moved 
to  strip  away  the  masks  we  all  have  to  wear 
in  this  life." 

"  We  do  not  have  to  wear  them,"  he  per- 
sisted. He  seemed  to  be  drooping  forward 
in  the  chair.  *'  It  is  but  a  mean  compromise 
with  conscience.  There  is  charity  on  all 
hands,  I  admit ;  but  it  is  not  charity  at  all 
to  give  what  we  can  do  without.  Where  is 
the  self-sacrifice  among  us  ?  We  plead  with 
the  people,  and  we  think  we  mean  it ;  then  we 
return  home  to  our  good  meal.  It  would 
choke  us  if  we  were  sincere.  We  could  not 
sleep  in  our  comfortable  bed,  knowing  there 
were  thousands  of  shivering  outcasts,  if  we 
were  sincere.  O  God,  forgive  all  our  trans- 
parent hypocrisy  !  " 

She  stood  very  still.  Her  breast  worked 
a  little  under  its  folds,  but  that  was  all. 
Lower  and  lower  in  his  chair  the  man  crouched ; 
he  seemed  to  sleep. 

Awe,  or  something  like  it,  had  chained  Miss 
Valj can's  primal  instincts,  and  given  her  a 
false  idea  of  deUcacy.  She  wanted  to  touch 
him,  and  could  not.  She  seemed  in  that  blank 
minute  to  stand  alone  in  a  deserted  house.   She 


THE  BORDERLAND  41 

thought  of  Bede,  propped  among  the  cushions 
in  his  warm  room  upstairs ;  she  thought  of 
Louis,  away  there  in  the  lonely  Hertfordshire 
village.  Her  eyes,  defiant  but  scared,  tra- 
velled slowly  round  again  to  look  at  the  man 
in  the  chair.  She  thought  of  him  being 
taken  ill,  maybe  delirious,  in  this  house — 
and  herself  not  daring  to  play  the  nurse. 
He  had  walked  so  strong  and  capable  beside 
her  an  hour  or  less  ago. 

With  a  little  hysterical  cry,  she  reached  out 
to  touch  the  bell  She  paused.  John  Lave- 
rock was  stumbling  to  his  feet  as  by  instinct. 

"No,  don't!"  he  said.  "I'm  sorry.  I 
felt  unwell.  It  has  passed — ^it  won't  happen 
again.     I  am  going — I  had  better  go." 

He  stooped  for  his  hat,  that  had  fallen  from 
him  at  last.  His  thick  brown  hair  was  ruffled 
over  his  forehead  ;  but  Miss  Valjean  had  a 
woman's  eyes.  Her  hands  clasping,  she  gave 
another — a  different — little  cry.  She  flitted 
close. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  said. 

"  I  can't — not  to-night,"  he  muttered, 
misunderstanding. 

"  Stop !  " 

With  one  hand  she  seized  his  wrists  ;  with 
the  other  she  fearfully  Hfted  back  the  ruffled 
hair. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried  trembhngly.  "  Oh,  my 
dear  !  " 


42  THE  BORDERLAND 

The  man  had  winced,  and  then  stood  pas- 
sive, quivering  because  she  had  found  him 
out.     He  smiled  down,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  repeated,  lifted  out  of  herself. 
"  You  shall  never  go  down  those  vile  streets 
again.  You  never  shall !  Don't  move — it 
can't  be — let  me  look." 

She  dragged  him  forward,  knocked  aside 
a  shade  over  one  of  the  candles,  and  looked. 
There  had  been  something  heavy — or  per- 
haps only  a  thick  finger  ring — in  or  upon  the 
hand  that  had  felled  him  like  a  malleted  ox. 
Soft,  graceful,  dainty  women  like  Miss  Valjean 
sicken  at  anything  not  physically  normal — 
Miss  Valjean  turned  her  head  with  a  shudder. 
There  was  a  greenish  swelling,  hot  and  velvety 
to  the  touch,  as  large  as  a  pigeon's  egg,  stand- 
ing out  upon  John  Laverock's  right  temple. 

*'  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  She  turned 
upon  him,  with  a  sob  of  anger,  before  she 
thought  of  healing  apparatus.  "  Where  have 
you  been,  I  say?" 

"  Nowhere.  At  least,  I  missed  you,  and 
came  back  to  Downham  Road  there,  and 
turned  back  as  far  as  the  bridge  again." 

"  It's  nonsense.  It's  false !  "  she  said, 
her  damp  eyes  aflame.  "  Don't  you  think  I 
know  something  more  ?  You  stayed  looking 
at  that  girl — that  beauty  ! — Donna,  as  they 
call  her.     Donna  !  " 

"  Well,  and  what  if  I  did  ?  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  43 

"  Bah  !  "  She  flung  away.  It  was  hope- 
less— he  would  not  express  contrition.  "I've 
no  patience  with  you  men — that's  all.  You 
seem  deliberately  to  walk  into  trouble,  and 
glory  in  it — bah  !  Louis  was  '  held  up  '  and 
robbed  down  one  of  those  streets  one  night, 
and  laughed  calmly  about  it.  And  now  you 
—Mary  !  " 

John  Laverock  hastily  put  on  his  hat  again. 

**  Mary  ?  "  he  repeated.  He  was  feeling 
considerably  better,  and  her  electrical  out- 
burst rather  amused  him.  "  I  thought  her 
name  was  Maud  ?     Louis  called  her  that." 

"  My  second  name  is  *  Maud,'  "  was  the 
chilling  reply  from  the  door.  '*  There  cannot 
be  two  of  the  same  name  in  the  same  house — 
or  not  in  this  house.  Wherever  is  the  girl  ? 
She  literally  runs  when  I  don't  want  her." 

Out  she  swept.  Returning  a  minute  later 
with  lint,  salve  and  hot  water,  she  was  more 
composed — more  tender.  She  gently  did  all 
that  was  necessary — or  all  that  would  not  pain 
him  too  much.  "  But  I  know  that  it  ought 
to  be  lanced,"  she  said.  Then  she  stepped 
back,  crying  softly. 

"  But  there's  nothing  to  worry  about," 
he  said,  puzzled.  "  A  bruise  is  only  a  thing 
of  a  day  or  so." 

"  Is  it !  "  She  waved  her  small  lace  hand- 
kerchief. "  You  did  not  see  yourself  when 
you  came  in — when  you  sat  in  that  chair. 


44  THE  BORDERLAND 

I  shall  write  to  Louis — I  will !     Did  you " 

She  suddenly  thought  of  something — "  Did 
you  come  across  that  unspeakable  Ben  Fisher 
again,  and  say  something  to  him  ?  No  ? 
Well,  then,  where  did  you — ^is  there  anything 
you  did  do — oh,  I  hate  mystery  !  "  She  went 
to  the  piano  ;  the  lid  was  banged  down  with 
the  blow  she  could  not  very  well  give  to  the 
man  himself.  "  All  right  !  yes,  a  bruise  is 
only  a  thing  of  a  day  or  so.  A  crack  on  the 
head  is  nothing  at  all.  Only  a  silly  woman 
would  think  twice  about  it.  You  are  going 
home  to  supper  ?  If  you  choose,  you  can 
stay " 

"  Thanks."  He  roused.  "  But  I  couldn't 
touch  anything  to-night." 

"  No — oh,  no  !  I  knew  that.  You  forgot 
all  about  your  dinner,  didn't  you  ? — walking 
all  that  way  to  see  the  procession  of  unem- 
ployed and  loafers.  Very  well ;  it  is  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  me." 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Valjean — and  many 
thanks,"  he  said,  after  the  pause.  "  I  think 
I'll  get  home  to  bed." 

"  Oh,  I  would,"  she  said,  with  sweet 
emphasis.  After  what  he  had  said  of  sincerity 
and  superfluity,  she  would  die  sooner  than 
refer  again  to  the  tasteful  little  supper  out- 
spread on  the  snowy  cloth  in  the  next  room. 
"  You're  so  very  comfortable  in  those  rooms  of 
yours,  aren't  you  ?  "  she  added. 


THE   BORDERLAND  45 

"  Well — "  he  had  to  look  away  at  that — 
"  I'll  make  the  best  of  them  for  a  few  months, 
at  any  rate." 

**  You  should  have  asked  me — you  should 
really  have  asked  some  woman  to  choose  and 
arrange  them  for  you.  It  was  absurd  from 
the  first.  I  suppose  you  paid  your  deposit 
before  you  had  even  looked  at  the  appoint- 
ments ?  Men  always  take  the  first  thing  that 
is  offered  them — and  the  bigger  and  more 
clever  the  man,  the  more  helpless  he  seems. 
That  Mrs.  Blinco — I  have  only  seen  her  the 
once,  of  course '* 

"  But  it  was  sufficient,  eh  ?  "  He  could 
laugh  now.  "  Yes,  maybe  the  vinegar  was 
at  the  bottom,  and  the  sugar  uppermost, 
when  I  took  the  rooms.  They  have  been 
shaken  together  since.     Ah,  well !  " 

Mary,  the  small  maid,  passed  up  the  stair- 
case with  something  on  a  tray  for  Bede. 

"  Good-night  !  "  he  said  heartily  ;  and 
"  Good-night,  sir !  "  she  called  back  delightedly. 
Miss  Valjean  bit  her  lip  as  an  alternative  to 
comment.  The  homage  of  a  man,  she  might 
perhaps  have  said,  is  not  such  a  wonderful 
thing  if  extended  gratuitously  to  everything 
in  petticoats.  The  invariably  courteous  man 
is  better  appreciated  by  men  than  by  women. 

He  walked  away.  His  mind  was  clear 
enough  now  ;  it  was  his  body  that  lacked 
elasticity.     He  had  kept  his  enthusiasm  very 


46  THE  BORDERLAND 

dry  until  now  ;  but  to-night  there  was  a  sus- 
picion of  dampness — a  queer  sense  of  the 
fact  that  there  were  as  many  culpable  im- 
pulses latent  in  himself  as  active  in  the  people 
he  had  come  to  work  amongst.  It  annoyed 
him  to  have  to  wonder  what  Miss  Valjean 
might  have  said  and  done  had  she  divined 
the  amazing  thought  in  his  brain  as  she 
applied  her  healing  ointment.  Her  touch 
was  very  cool,  soft  and  comforting,  and  yet, 
as  his  eyes  closed  in  the  process,  he  suddenly 
found  himself  thinking — what  if  it  had  been 
the  touch  of  the  amber  girl  ? 

"  Absolute  nonsense,"  he  said  firmly  to 
himself.  **  She's  right.  Absolute  nonsense 
from  beginning  to  end." 

His  rooms  were  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant.  He  admitted  himself  with  his  key. 
The  house  seemed  curiously  dull  and  depressing 
after  the  one  he  had  j  ust  left .  He  had  two  rooms 
on  the  ground  floor — one  behind  the  other — 
because,  with  an  ingrained  love  of  air,  those 
old-fashioned  glass  doors  opening  on  to  the 
gravel  forecourt  had  struck  him  as  quaint  and 
useful.  He  drew  down  the  bUnd  now,  lit 
the  gas,  and  waited.  And  presently  came  a 
tap. 

"  Did  you  say  you  required  anything,  Mr. 
Laverock  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  !  "  He  strode  to  the  door. 
"  I  should  very  much  like  a  bath." 


THE  BORDERLAND  47 

'*  A  bath  !  "  Mrs.  Blinco  generally  echoed 
a  request  slowly  to  point  out  its  unusual 
character,  presumably  as  a  hint  that  it  must 
not  occur  again.  She  was  even  more  incredu- 
lous to-night,  as  shown  by  her  tightly  crossed 
arms  and  her  access  of  nodding.  "  A  bath, 
did  you  say,  sir  ?  You  don't  mind  my  saying, 
I  hope,  but  my  other  gentleman  invariably 
took  his  bath  out — weekly,  I  fancy — at  a  very 
trifling  cost." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  He  was  impressed,  but 
not  turned.  "  But  I  understood,  when  I 
came,  that  there  was  a  bath  to  use  on  the 
premises? " 

"  When  there  is  a  fire  to  heat  the  water," 
she  reminded  him,  clinchingly.  ''  And  when 
the  bath  has  not  been  newly  enamelled,"  and 
back  went  her  head. 

"Oh,  I  see.  WeU,"  he  reflected,  "per- 
haps I  can  have  one  in  my  own  room. 
Will  you  oblige  me  with  a  can  of  warm  water, 
and  I'll  settle  with  you  for  the  extra  gas 
used.     Oh,  and  some  rough  towels,  please  !  " 

Sniffingly  she  retired.  He  knew  that  she 
had  told  her  husband,  and  that  the  husband 
had  said  :  "  Serve  you  right  for  taking  in 
gentlemen  boarders,"  but  he  stood  firm.  And 
presently  she  came  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom 
with  the  can. 

"  The  towels ?  " 

"  I  have  no  rough  ones.    We  don't  use 


48  THE  BORDERLAND 

them  in  this  establishment."  She  was 
undoubtedly  ruffled  to-night,  he  thought. 
"  Here,  sir  !  "  She  handed  him  one.  "  That 
is  for  the  best  parts  ;  and  this — "  she  took 
another  critical  look  at  it,  speaking  tartly — 
"  this  is  for  the  worst.  And  I  must  ask  you 
not  to  splash  more  than  you  must,  Good- 
night, sir !  " 

A  little  later,  as  John  Laverock  went  back 
to  his  sitting-room  for  a  quiet  read  or  reverie, 
he  heard  Mrs.  Blinco  remark -that  some  people 
might  starve,  while  others  sat  up  all  night 
burning  gas  for  their  own  amusement.  And 
he  felt  a  distinct  twinge  of  conscious  shame. 
Or  was  it  merely  resentment  ?  Because  he 
sat  there  in  silence  for  an  hour  longer,  trying 
to  recall  and  interpret  every  look  in  the  eyes 
of  the  amber  girl. 


CHAPTER   V 

DONNA  ?  Donna  Bohannan  ?  Oh,  yes, 
to  be  sure  !  "  said  Mrs.  Mucklehom 
affably,  as  she  kicked  back  the  baby  and 
waddled  up  from  the  area  recesses  at 
No.  10,  squeezing  the  soap-bubbles  from 
one  huge  arm  and  flicking  them  narrowly 
past  him.  He  had  never  known  a  woman 
so  wedded  to'  her  wash-tub,  he  thought. 
"  Oh,  yes  !  If  you  call  by  to-morrow  about 
this  time,  sir,  as  like  as  not  you'll  find  her  in." 

"  But  you  said  that  yesterday,"  John 
Laverock  reminded  her  patiently.  "  You 
told  me  to  call  to-morrow,  you  know." 

"  Did  I  ?  But  this  isn't  to-morrow — ^this 
'ere's  to-day."  She  turned  attention  to  the 
other  arm,  and  he  had  to  shift  his  position 
again.  "  The  fact  is,  I  dunno  nothin'  much 
about  her  ins  and  outs,  and  don't  want  to. 
It's  as  much  as  one  can  do  nowadays  to  pay 
the  rates  and  support  a  pack  o'  fat  bishops 
in  knee  breeches." 

"I  see.  You  find  the  rates  press  rather 
heavily  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  we  like  'em.     Look  what  we  get 

49  u 


50  THE  BORDERLAND 

for  our  money.  We're  allowed  to  live.  You 
see,  they're  makin'  such  a  fine  place  o'  Lon- 
don. It  don't  matter  a  bit  about  the  people 
who  find  the  bricks,  does  it  ?  Yes,  Donna 
'11  be  in  about  this  time  to-morrow." 

He  turned.  He  was  growing  used  to  the 
peculiar  elusiveness  of  slum  repartee,  but 
there  was  something  in  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's 
airy  irrelevancies  that  defied  him  so  far. 
In  truth,  too,  he  scarcely  knew  why  at  dusk, 
every  day  for  a  week,  he  had  found  himself 
drawn  toward  No.  lo,  Phillimore  Street. 
Each  time  he  had  moved  on  with  something 
of  the  feeling  of  a  boy  who  has  been  warned 
not  to  pursue  a  will-o'-the-wisp  any  farther. 
And  each  fugitive  glimpse  of  Donna  Bohannan 
in  Hoxton  streets  had  weakened  him  again 
in  his  intention  to  let  her  pass  out  of  his 
life  as  a  problem. 

And  then  he  turned.  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's 
voice   had   come   after   him   ventriloquially. 

"  I  always  shall  say  they've  sent  us  a 
perfect  gentleman  !  " 

Struck  by  the  emphasis  he  stepped  back, 
and  saw  that  she  had  the  baby  in  her  arms 
now.  Almost  before  he  knew  it,  he  had 
taken  some  coins  hurriedly  from  his  pocket 
and  pressed  them  into  the  baby's  hand. 

"  There,  now,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  I 
never  thought  of  it." 

"  Never  thought  you  were  a  gentleman  ? 


THE  BORDERLAND  51 

Well,  you  look  like  one,  and  that  passes  for 
the  real  thing  in  this  world,  don't  it  ?  "  Mrs. 
Mucklehorn  annexed  the  coins  calmly  but 
forcibly.  "  What  I  mean  is,  the  front  door's 
always  open.  There's  nothin'  to  stop  any 
one  goin'  up,  is  there  ?  Harf  a  minnit, 
though  !  " 

He  was  taking  the  hint  and  a  step  forward 
simultaneously. 

**  But  I  quite  understand,"  he  whispered. 
**  She  is  at  home — was  at  home  yesterday — 
but  told  you  to  make  a  little  lie  of  it." 

"  Somethin'  in  that,"  Mrs.  Mucklehorn 
admitted.  "  But  what  I  mean  is,  you  can't 
go  gallivantin'  about  the  house,  sir,  on  the 
off  chance.     There's  one  up  there  already." 

John  Laverock  stood  and  looked  down  at 
her  from  the  steps.  Just  for  a  moment  he 
could  not  speak.  His  intentions  had  been 
creditable  enough,  but  he  felt  suddenly 
placed  in  a  false  position  in  the  eyes  of  others. 

'*  Who  he  is,  and  what  he  is,  I  ain't  goin' 
to  say,"  Mrs.  Mucklehorn  proceeded  placidly, 
with  a  spank  at  the  baby.  "  And  I  shan't 
interfere,  so  long  as  she  pays  up  for  her  room. 
All  I  know  is,  he's  been  here  before,  and  he's 
hot  stuff,  and  he  marched  up  them  steps 
just  afore  you  come  along.  Red  sky  agin,  I 
see." 

There  was  an  uncertain  pause.  He  had 
glanced    half    incredulously    once    or    twice 


52  THE  BORDERLAND 

into  the  passage,  that  was  dark  as  the  throat 
of  a  wolf.  His  voice,  when  it  came,  sounded 
husky.  There  seemed  to  be  a  most  stubborn 
haze  of  mystery  about  the  amber  girl. 

"  Why  do  they  call  her  '  Donna '  ?  Do  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Lor'  love  my  soul,  sir,  what  next !  I 
call  her  a  finnickin'  hussy,  as  deep  as  that 
drain."  She  pointed  gutterwards.  "  There's 
some  talk  about  her  bein'  called  '  Madonna  ' 
up  at  the  music-halls,  if  that's  anythink — 
same  as  they  called  her  mother  before 
her.  Sich  rubbish  !  Her  name's  Lou — Lou 
Bohannan." 

**  Lou  ?  "  he  said.  Involuntarily  he  re- 
peated a  thought  that  came  into  his  mind. 
"  Lou  !— Amber  Lou  !  " 

"  Amber  Lou !  That's  done  it.  That's 
a  good  'un !  "  Mrs.  Mucklehorn  laughed 
long  and  loud.     And  she  could  laugh. 

"  Has  she  no  parents  living  ?  "  he  ven- 
tured, when  it  subsided. 

"  Gawd  knows.  Ask  her  all  about  it, 
sir — that's  what  you're  here  for.  My  copper 
'11  be  boilin'  over.    Top  floor  front !  " 

She  waddled  down  and  disappeared.  It 
was  left  to  him  to  stride  away  like  a  fool,  or 
have  the  simple  courage  of  his  convictions. 
There  were  other  lodgers,  he  believed,  but 
a  sort  of  stagnant  silence  held  the  house  just 
now,  made  more  noticeable  by  the  droning 


THE   BORDERLAND  53 

babble  from  the  streets  all  around.  Then, 
as  he  seemed  to  hear  the  sweet,  icy  little  titter 
of  Miss  Valjean,  he  plunged  forward  and 
set  his  feet  firmly  upon  the  stairs.  He  was 
annoyed  to  think  that  he  had  temporized 
while  the  dusk  deepened. 

Up  he  went,  till  he  reached  the  second 
landing.  There  was  one  more  short  flight, 
but  he  paused,  gripping  the  balustrade,  his 
eyes  as  keenly  strained  as  his  ears.  Just 
above  there,  some  one  seemed  to  be  straining 
at  a  door.  The  panels  were  drummed,  the 
handle  shaken  ferociously  ;  and  then  a  man's 
panting,  malicious  low  laugh. 

"  Right  you  are  !  I  know  all  about  it. 
You're  in  there  right  enough,  because  your 
key's  turned  that  side.  You've  done  me, 
but  you'll  come  on  your  knees  at  the  finish. 
You've  got  to  live  !  " 

This,  then,  was  the  man  Mrs.  Mucklehorn 
had  indicated.  He  had  a  musical,  slightly 
foreign  lilt  in  his  voice,  and  might  easily 
have  been  jesting  ;  but  John  Laverock  had 
to  conceive  a  definite  distrust  of  him  on  the 
spot.  Drawing  back  he  was  relieved  to  find 
the  landing  deep  enough  to  obviate  any 
physical  contact.  The  man  was  coming 
down,  humming  jauntily.  He  half  paused, 
listening,  just  where  a  glimmer  from  the 
skylight  caught  upon  him.  His  hat,  pushed 
back,   showed   a   crop   of  little   close   black 


54  THE  BORDERLAND 

curls.  He  had  small  gold  loops  in  his  ears, 
white  teeth,  dark  skin,  and  upturned,  gleaming 
eyes.  He  looked  in  that  instant  capable 
of  any  devilment  that  could  suggest  itself 
to  a  fertile  brain. 

There  was  no  sound.  Another  soft  Httle 
laugh,  and  he  swung  himself  with  a  catlike 
ease  round  the  balustrade  and  darted  lightly 
down  the  dark  stair.  And  only  when  he 
had  gone  did  John  Laverock  know  himself 
to  be  standing  with  breath  held  and  hands 
drawn  up  in  the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
He  had  gone  hot,  too,  at  the  thought  of 
standing  back  there  unannounced  and  un- 
suspected. He  stepped  halfway  up  the  last 
flight  at  once. 

"  Lou  !  "  he  called,  a  little  awkwardly, 
but  resolutely.  If  he  meant  his  work  to  be 
real — and  he  did — he  must  stifle  sentiment 
and  bring  himself  down  to  the  prosaic  Hoxton 
level. 

No  answer.     He  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Donna !  "  And  that  sounded  a  little 
more  lifeUke — at  least,  somehow  he  preferred 
that  name.     "  Donna  !  " 

There  was  a  steady  step  over  bare  boards. 
A  key  turned,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
calm,  contemptuous  face  looked  down  at 
him.  He  knew  it  now  :  the  fact  that  his  heart 
beat  faster  again  meant  that  he  could  never 
feel  quite  at  ease  under  those  eyes  of  hers. 


THE  BORDERLAND  55 

"  It's  only  me — Mr.  Laverock,"   he   said. 

**  I  can  see  that,"  was  the  reply.  "  You've 
got  my  name  pat,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Miss  Bohannan,  then  !  Not  seeing  you 
to  speak  to  properly,  I  have  called  to  know 
how  you  are,  and  if  there  is  anything  in 
which  I,  or  Miss  Valjean,  could  help  you." 

"  I  know.  It  was  like  your  blooming 
impudence,"  she  said,  in  the  same  level  voice. 
At  the  same  time  it  struck  him  that  she  was 
speaking  quite  absently,  and  not  thinking 
of  him  at  all.  He  waited.  She  went  back, 
and  closed  the  door.  Still  he  waited ;  it 
did  not  seem  possible  that  she  was  such  a 
savage,  inaccessible  creature  as  all  that.  And 
presently  the  door  opened  again.  She  had 
lit  a  lamp. 

"  Now  you  can  come  in,  and  say  what  you 
want  to  say,  once  and  for  all." 

He  hesitated.  He  had  scarcely  contem- 
plated this ;  he  had  thought  of  her  vaguely 
as  living  on  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's  premises, 
and  that  was  all.  Then  he  went  forward. 
If  she  felt  no  shyness  it  was  absurd  of  him 
to  feel  it  for  her. 

The  room  was  almost  bare,  and  the  bed 
on  the  floor  was  only  partly  shut  off  by  a 
few  bits  of  flimsy  drapery  on  a  chair.  That 
much  he  had  to  take  in  at  a  glance,  and  then 
he  sat  down  and  leaned  forward  to  talk 
earnestly — resolved  not  to  be  turned  by  her 


56  THE  BORDERLAND 

forced  flippancy,  which  seemed  a  veil  for 
deeper  feelings.  Instead,  he  began  in  an 
involuntary  whisper. 

"  Excuse  me,  you  are  far  from  well — you 
ought  not  to  be  so  pale  as  that !  " 

"  No  ?  P'raps  I  chew  tea,  to  give  myself 
a  better  complexion."     And  he  sat  back. 

"  You  can  be  as  rude  to  me  as  you  like," 
he  said  ;  "  but  I  am  here  with  a  work  to  do, 
and,  please  God,  I  am  going  to  do  my  utmost. 
If  it  were  always  pleasant  work  there  would 
be  no  credit  in  success,  would  there  ?  The 
Salvation  Army  has  given  us  immortal  proof 
of  that,  hasn't  it  ?    That's  right !  " 

She  sat  down  opposite  him,  her  chin  resting 
in  her  hands,  a  far-away  smile  twitching 
her  pale  lips. 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Valjean  took  the  cake," 
she  remarked.  "  I  don't  now.  Your  Mission 
ought  to  make  money.  It's  got  the  right 
men." 

John  Laverock  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 
It  was  true  that  for  once  he  scarcely  knew 
what  to  say.  It  seemed  more  than  ever  so 
incredible  that  there  should  be  no  softening, 
upHfting  influence  brought  to  bear  upon  these 
cramped  lives — and  yet  apparently  so  clear 
that  any  effort  in  that  direction  would  be 
fruitless. 

"  Does  the  Church  visiting  lady  call  here  ?  " 
he  asked  abruptly. 


THE  BORDERLAND  57 

The  fathomless  turquoise  eyes  were  watch- 
ing him  with  such  a  strange  expression  of 
expectancy. 

"  She  did,  until  her  third  purse  was  pinched. 
You'd  better  mind  yours." 

He  shifted  his  legs,  and  started  resolutely 
again. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  asked  to  one  of  the 
Mission  meetings,  or  into  church  or  chapel, 
may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Never.     And  I  don't  intend  to  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  not  cut  out  for  a  blooming 
hypocrite." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ? "  he  persisted, 
still  gently,  feeling  his  way  to  her  true  view 
of  life. 

"  What  I  say.  People  go  to  church  for 
what  they  can  get — to  be  on  the  right  side." 

"  But  isn't  it  best  to  be  on  the  right  side  ?  " 

"  It's  the  wrong.  If  there  was  no  heaven 
at  the  end  of  it  they  wouldn't  go.  It's  like 
promising  a  kid  a  bit  o'  sugar  to  be  good." 

"  Where  did  you  get  your  strange  ideas 
from,  Donna  ?  " 

"  Nowhere.  I  use  my  own  eyes  and  ears — 
not  other  people's.  It's  a  paying  game,  isn't 
it — a  preacher's  ?  There's  one  goes  down 
the  Kingsland  Road  in  his  motor-car,  dressed 
up  like  a  pet  lamb.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
reUgion.    Tell  me  how  /  can  get  a  motor- 


58  THE  BORDERLAND 

car,  and  I'll  chance  the  rest."  She  rose 
majestically,  and  smoothed  back  her  fair 
hair  before  a  bit  of  looking-glass.  "  I  say  ! 
If  you  don't  want  to  get  knifed,"  came  her 
voice,  without  the  sHghtest  change,  "  keep 
away  from  here  a  bit." 

"  Knifed  ?  "  John  Laverock  repeated. 

"  I  should  say  so.  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
before,  but  I  wouldn't.  You  had  one  warnin' 
last  Wednesday,  didn't  you  ?  "  And  now 
he  knew  that  she  had  turned  her  back  upon 
him  with  a  crude  sort  of  tact.  "  Don't 
blame  me.  It  was  just  as  it  happened — him 
coming  up  at  that  moment.  Ben  Fisher 
put  him  up  to  it,  with  some  lie  or  other.  You 
passed  him  on  the  stairs  just  now,  didn't 
you  ?  " 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  It  was  of  no  use  be- 
ginning on  theories  connected  with  the  life 
to  come.  Spite  of  himself  John  Laverock 
was  plucked  back  inevitably  to  the  material. 
"  I  should  never  have  asked  you,  but — who 
is  he  ?  " 

"  Now  you're  talkin'  sense."  She  had 
broken  the  ice.  She  turned,  with  her  pro- 
voking tranquillity,  and  surveyed  him.  Then 
she  looked  away.  "  Never  mind  his  name. 
They  call  him  Cobra,"  she  said.  "  And  I 
ought  to  know.  I  lived  with  him — once — 
for  a  week." 

"  You "     He  could  not  finish.     He  sat 


THE  BORDERLAND  59 

as  in  a  cold  spell,  the  puny  grotesqueness 
of  his  first  intentions  forcing  itself  upon  him. 
It  was  not  the  mere  fact :  it  was  the  deadly, 
indifferent  coolness  of  this  aspect.  She  stood 
before  him,  naked  and  challenging  and  un- 
ashamed. He  was  reduced  to  a  whisper — 
'*  Do  you  mean  me  to  believe  that  ?  " 

"  Mean  what  ?  I  never  tell  lies,"  she 
said,  **  because  I  don't  care  what  people 
think  of  the  truth.  If  I  tell  you  now,  it's 
only  what  I've  told  others,  because  one  of 
these  days  he'll  swing  through  the  trap  for 
his  devil  of  a  temper." 

"  And — and  drag  you  down  with  him  ?  " 
John  Laverock  got  out  huskily. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it."  She  gave  her  odd 
little  laugh,  twisting  her  fingers  together 
wearily.     "  But  that's  my  affair,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  the  man  said  quietly.  He  rose, 
and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  He  had 
mastered  himself  completely.  "  No,  Donna  ! 
You  belong  to  God,  and  God  will  require 
an  account  of  your  life,  as  of  mine.  Do 
you  believe  that  ?  If  no  one  has  ever  told 
you  so  before,  do  you  believe  it  was  put  into 
my  heart  to  want  to  speak  to  you,  and  help 
you,  from  the  moment  of  our  first  talk 
together  ?  " 

Slowly  she  twisted  free,  and  stood  back, 
looking  him  up  and  down  in  the  way  that 
was  all  her  own.    For  once  she  whispered. 


6o  THE  BORDERLAND 

"I  say!  Suppodng  he  was  to  take  it 
into  his  head  to  come  badL  What  wonld 
he  think  ?    How  would  you  gp  on  ?  " 

John  Lavefock  had  hcoogfat  a  small  pared 
of  books  and  leaflets  on  his  roand  that  evening. 
In  the  pause;  he  picked  np  what  was  kft 
of  them. 

"  Would  yon  care  to  read  one  or  two  of 
these,  if  I  leave  them  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  very 
ordinary  voice. 

"  So  that  yxm  can    -"  ^--k  far  'tana,  eh  ?  " 

"No;    I  should  aiiy  case.    Yon 

can  keep  them." 

"What  are  they?"  She  avoided  the 
leaflets  astntehr,  and  trnme-^  — -a  paper- 
covered  book  with  her  smaL,    ^n  fii^geis. 

"David  Cop — Coppeiflcid?  What  a  name! 
And  what  a  lot  of  it ! "  She  handed  it  back. 
"No,  I  never  read,  except  ifs  the  Erm  or 
the  Sunday  paper.  Mr.  YaQean  used  to 
leave  stacks  of  tracts  and  other  rubbish. 
What's  the  use?"  Her  lip  curled  inde- 
sciibabhr.  "  I  say,  whaf  s  the  use  o'  rcai£n' 
about  hrsven  if  you  know  you're  booked  for 
th^ 

"Tii-; 

ative  SiiiiiLs    iivju.^iuj5.>' 

"  Yes !    What  woi 
nie  ?    Would  you  sweat  h 
for  six  shfllTTigs  a  wed^? 

here  button-hoHnsr   for  nin 


THE   BORDERLAND  6i 

That's  what  I  ask  people  like  you.  And 
they  never  answer — they  go  on  gassing  about 
heaven." 

"  Hush,"  he  said  gravely.  "  There  is  no 
real  reason  why  you  should  do  either.  If 
you  care  forme  to  speak  to  Miss  Valjean,  or 
to  the  Mission  Committee,  I  haven't  the 
slightest  doubt  we  could  find  you  a  com- 
fortable situation " 

*'  What !  a  servant  ?  Sell  my  life  to 
keep  fed  and  look  respectable  ?  Not  me. 
I'd  sooner  starve — or  go  back  on  the  halls. 
P'raps  I  shall  do  that." 

**  You  will  not !  "  he  said,  his  mouth  set, 
his  figure  stiffened  in  a  way  that  seemed  to 
flatter  her  femininity.  She  turned  her  head 
to  laugh. 

"  Not,  eh  ?    Who's  going  to  keep  me  ?  " 

"  You  will  not,  I  hope,"  he  repeated. 
"  After  what  you  have  told  me — after  showing 
me  you  know  as  clearly  as  I  what  is  right 
and  what  is  wrong — I  should  say  that  you 
went  deliberately  to  your  own  risk  of  ruin. 
I  should — God  help  me  for  saying  it — I 
should  cease  to  pity  you  in  the  least." 

"  Pity  me !  "  She  drew  herself  up  in 
turn.  She  looked  as  superb  as  any  actress 
in  a  low-comedy  role — and  she  had  a  tigerish 
suggestiveness,  too.  "  Pity  me  !  If  that 'sail 
you  come  here  to  do  you  can  keep  away. 
Don't  talk  to  me  when  you  see  me  down 


62  THE  BORDERLAND 

Hoxton.  The  world  '11  go  on  very  well 
without  your  pity  !  " 

**  You  don't  understand  me,"  he  began 
again  strenuously.  But  she  went  on,  sticking 
her  small  face  close  to  his,  unaccountably 
roused. 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Any  woman  understands 
that.  You're  up  in  the  world,  and  I'm  down 
here.  You  had  a  good  bringing-up,  and  I 
had  none.  That's  all  the  real  difference 
between  us.  And  if  there's  a  God  Almighty 
so  merciful  as  you  keep  bunging  down  our 
throats.  He'll  judge  accordin',  won't  He  ? 
Pity  me  !  If  I  thought  that  much  of  you — 
which  I  don't — I'd  just  as  lief  you  said  you 
hated  me.  I  shall  go  back  to  the  halls  if  I 
want,  and  do  anything  else  I  want ;  because 
I  can  see  with  my  own  eyes  that  one  pays 
just  as  well  as  the  other  in  this  world — and 
a  bit  better.    There  !  " 

"  So  you  think  !  "  he  was  reduced  to  saying, 
very  quietly.  **  So  you  tell  me,  at  least. 
But  it  is  perversely  untrue  to  say  that  I  force 
religion  of  any  kind  upon  any  one  here.  You 
know  it !  AU  the  religions  in  the  world 
would  fail  in  such  an  attempt — I  know  that ! 
All  I  ask  is,  to  get  into  touch  with  your  human 
selves  ;  the  spiritual  self  I  may  hope  to  reach 
later.  Can't  I — mayn't  I  hope  to  try  in 
your  case,  Dortna  ?  If  I  saw  only  a  moment's 
softness  I  should  feel  so  happy — I  can't  teU 


THE  BORDERLAND  63 

you  !  In  fact,"  he  took  her  hand  suddenly 
and  gripped  it,  "  Fm  going  to  try,  whether 
you  scoff  or  not." 

"  Let  go,"  she  whispered.  And  then  he 
realized  that  the  hand  he  had  held  was 
smaller  and  more  limp  than  he  had  been 
aware.  "  That's  quite  enough,"  she  said, 
turning  away  coldly.  "  I'm  not  anxious  to 
be  pitied,  while  there's  plenty  of  men  quite 
ready  to  do  the  other  thing.  Just  tell  me 
when  you  mean  to  call  again  and  I'U  be 
out." 

"  And  still  I  shall  hope  for  you  ;  and  still 
believe  that  it  is  simply  the  devilry  in  you 
which " 

"  In  me  ?  Who  put  it  there  ?  Did  I  ? 
What  eyes  you  have  got !  "  she  said,  looking 
at  him  in  irony — apparently  always  keeping 
uppermost  the  consciousness  that  his  sex 
made  him  essentially  a  target  for  the  shafts 
of  her  own.  In  fact,  she  was  eager  to  wound, 
and  to  see  his  face  twitch.  "  You'd  do  well 
in  the  factory  dinner-hour  down  Old  Street, 
telling  the  girls  just  what  they've  had  for 
dinner.  Oh,  I  don't  care  what  I  say,  or 
what  you  think !  "  He  had  flushed  pal- 
pably, and  could  have  bitten  his  lip  through 
in  chagrin  at  the  fact.  "  I  can  tell  you 
something  more,  if  you  like."  She  marched 
coolly  close  again,  and  looked  him  in  the 
eyes.     "  You're  not  a  bit  better  than  any- 


64  THE   BORDERLAND 

body  else — only  you  get  frightened  and 
repent  every  time  you  do  anything.  That's 
a  fact.  If  it  ever  come  to  the  point,  you'd 
want  as  much  pitying  as  any  one.  Don't 
believe  me  ?  Wait !  A  black  coat  covers 
a  lot,  don't  it  ?  Yes,  but  it  only  covers  flesh 
and  blood." 

"  Good-night !  "  he  said,  with  steady  cheer- 
fulness, as  the  silence  settled  down  again. 
He  had  turned  and  gathered  up  his  booklets — 
as  if  he  knew  that  she  would  sweep  them 
into  limbo  the  instant  he  had  gone.  After 
all,  it  was  only  what  Miss  Valjean  had  hinted 
that  he  must  expect.  Hoxton  would  brook 
no  interference  with  its  animal  freedom. 
"  Good-night,  Donna  !  "  He  was  at  the  door, 
smiling.  "  This  is  our  first  real  talk,  but 
not  our  last — don't  think  that !  " 

"  Mind  the  Cobra,  then,"  she  whispered 
absently.  **  He's  not  talking,  but  he'll  sting 
you  dead  as  soon  as  look  at  you." 

"  We  shall  see.  What  is  he,  may  I  ask  ?  " 
It  was  the  question  he  had  determined  not 
to  ask,  and  she  seemed  to  know  that. 

"  Cobra  King  ?  Oh,  he's  a  very  nice 
gentleman.  You'd  like  him.  Let  me  see — 
he  calls  himself  a  professional  agent,  and 
dodges  up  and  down  the  halls  between  here 
and  Leicester  Square.  He'll  get  any  likely 
girl  a  small  part  if  she  finds  him  the  money. 
If  she  can't — he  finds  her  something  else. 


THE  BORDERLAND  65 

Obliging,  isn't  he  ?  And  he's  only  one  of  a 
thousand  more  Uke  him.  But  you  don't 
want  to  know  anything  about  real  life,  do 
you  ?  You're  so  different.  You  don't  even 
have  to  trouble  to  work,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  work  hard,  Donna,"  he  said  in  his 
deep  voice,  looking  steadfastly  back  at  her 
before  he  turned  finally.  There  was  flesh 
and  blood  enough  in  him,  at  any  rate,  to 
make  him  resolved  there  and  then  not  to  be 
mastered  and  jeered  into  failure  by  this  slip 
of  a  girl.  "  I  work  hard  every  day  of  my 
Hfe." 

"  I  should  say  so."  She  laughed  to  her- 
self.    "  Go  on — good-night !  " 

She  pushed  the  door  to,  and  left  him 
outside.  He  was  very  pale,  heavy  with 
bitterness,  and  ready  to  set  his  teeth  ;  but 
what  was  that  to  her  ?  She  had  calmly 
said  as  much — she  was  one  of  the  women 
born  into  the  world  branded  with  an  invisible 
"A".    And  nothing  could  alter  the  fact. 


CHAPTER   VI 

FOUR  busy  days  had  ticked  by  before 
John  Laverock  took  his  courage  in 
both  hands  and  paid  the  promised  call  at 
No.  10,  Phillimore  Street.  Somehow  they 
seemed  like  weeks.  This  time  he  mounted 
the  mysterious  stair  with  full  confidence  in 
himself,  and  like  a  man  who  acted  as  the 
humble  agent  of  a  higher  power. 

He  was  doomed  to  cold  disappointment. 
The  top  front  room  door  remained  closed 
to  his  knock.  Imagination  it  was,  perhaps, 
that  persuaded  him  he  had  heard  a  move- 
ment within  the  room ;  nothing  answered 
his  repeated  call ;  and  there  was  no  light 
beyond  the  door.     Not  to-night ! 

Down  the  dark  stair  and  out  on  to  the 
pavement  he  came  with  a  little  series  of 
stumbles.  A  mist  of  rain  was  falling,  and 
a  lamp  outside  sent  its  Hght  into  his  eyes. 
He  took  a  few  quick,  uncertain  strides, 
collided  with  something,  and  threw  out  his 
hands  with  instinctive  swiftness. 

*'  Sorry,    lad — so    sorry  !  "     he    breathed. 

66 


THE  BORDERLAND  67 

*'  My  fault.  Stand  quite  still.  Have  I  upset 
anything  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  was  the  husky  answer — the 
voice  of  "  Lamps  Out "  Smith  had  never 
been  anything  but  husky.  *'  Have  a  look, 
and  I'll  tell  yer." 

The  lad  stood  passive,  looking  before  him 
intently.  He  knew  now  who  had  clutched 
him,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  grateful  hypno- 
tism in  the  touch  not  to  be  lost  too  soon. 
Quite  a  score  of  typical,  fascinating  figures 
stood  out  by  now  more  or  less  prominently 
in  the  forefront  of  the  crowded  Hoxton 
panorama  that  haunted  John  Laverock's 
dreams  ;  and  this  oddity  with  the  peaked 
scrap  of  a  face,  large  red  ears,  and  staring 
eyes  that  saw  nothing,   was  one  of  them. 

**  Lamps  Out,"  a  pipe  everlastingly  gripped 
between  his  front  teeth,  and  a  tray  of  buttons 
and  laces  slung  from  his  neck,  slouched  along 
the  pavements  of  Hoxton  and  Haggerston 
with  whimsical  persistency  from  morning 
till  night  without  ever  appearing  anxious 
to  sell  anything.  The  boys  had  abandoned 
organized  rushes  to  upset  his  tray,  because 
obviously  he  bore  a  protected  life,  having 
been  knocked  down  by  vehicles  only  once 
in  crossing  the  Kingsland  Road.  In  John 
Laverock's  eyes  he  was  an  amazingly  pathetic 
figure — all  the  more  so  because  he  did  not 
seem  to   realize   anything   of   the   sort.    It 


68  THE  BORDERLAND 

was  John  Laverock's  secret  conviction,  too, 
that  God  steered  him  along  the  kerbs,  and 
permitted  him  to  see  things  that  only  the 
blind  can  see. 

Stooping,  John  Laverock  felt  over  the 
damp  pavements  conscientiously.  "  Lamps 
Out  "  was  quick  to  interpret  the  sound. 

"  Wipe  yer  hands  on  me,"  he  advised, 
smoking  away.     "  Nothink,  is  there  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  I  feel  sure."  John  Laverock 
peered  into  the  tray,  saw  three  halfpence 
among  the  buttons,  and  slid  a  sixpence 
beside  them.  "  But  your  stock  is  quite  wet, 
Smith.  You  want  a  cover  of  some  sort,  surely." 

"  Rainin*,  is  it  ?  Bio  wed  if  I  knew.  When 
it's  alius  rainin'  in  yer  heart — well,  you  don't 
notice,  sir,  do  yer  ?  '*  (A  touch  of  maudlin 
sentimentality  happily  rare  in  Smith,  who 
was  apt  to  feel  shy  and  awkward  in  this  great, 
towering  presence  as  he  pictured  it.) 

"  I  can  walk  a  little  way  with  you,"  John 
Laverock  decided.  And  they  stepped  out, 
John  Laverock  looking  down  askance  at  the 
pipe  gripped  in  the  front  teeth  of  the  upturned 
white  face.  The  small  idiosyncrasies  of  his 
types  amused  him  deeply.  *'  And  who  buys 
all  this  tobacco.  Smith  ?  " 

"  Dunno.  Well,  what  I  mean  is,  I'm  in 
CO.  with  a  chap  that  picks  up  *  toppers ' 
down  the  road,  and  he  does  middhn'  well 
at  it.    See  ?  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  69 


"  I  see,"  he  said — although  he  saw  very 
hazily.  "  And  what's  your  father  doing  by 
now  ?  " 

"  Drunk,"  was  the  laconic  response. 

"  Drunk  ? "  He  drew  a  sharp  breath. 
Of  late  this  same  word  flashed  up  a  picture 
to  him  that  made  him  want  to  fling  him- 
self bodily  at  the  public  houses — until  he 
remembered  that  the  pubUc  houses  were 
not  responsible.     "  But  you  said " 

"  I  know.  Monday's  his  real  day.  And 
it's  Toosday,  ain't  it  ?  I'm  givin'  him  up  to 
about  Friday  to  start  work  again.  The 
kid's  died,  and  he's  got  the  quid  insurance 
off  mother.     See  ?  " 

''  Vile  !  "  breathed  John  Laverock  to  him- 
self.   "  The  baby  gone,  eh  ?    Another  !  " 

"  Die  off  like  flies,  don't  they  ?  "  observed 
"  Lamps  Out,"  feeling  for  a  fugitive  lucifer. 
*'  Only  seven  left  out  o'  fourteen,  or  there- 
abouts." 

"  And — and  does  your  mother  feel  the  loss  ?  " 

"  Not  harf  she  don't.  She  was  so  bad, 
I'm  told,  they  had  to  put  gin  in  her  beer  to 
keep  her  quiet.  Course,  now  he's  got  the 
quid,  she's  got  to  pawn  somethink  to  pay 
the  undertaker  man,  ain't  she  ?  'Taint  harf 
a  life,  one  way  an'  another,  is  it  ?  " 

They  had  walked  some  way  before  John 
Laverock  could  seem  to  trust  his  voice  to 
answer  ordinarily. 


70  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  Life  is  mainly  what  we  make  it,  Smith, 
and  I  begin  to  think  that  the  people  in  these 
dark  places  prefer  their  darkness." 

"  Ain't  they  lit  up  yet,  then  ?  "  ''Lamps 
Out  "  asked,  quite  innocently.  "  'Bout  time. 
Where  are  we  ?  " 

They  had  turned  down  a  courtway  and 
come  out  into  Hoxton  Street  itself.  The 
cobbles  were  greasy  and  black.  Through 
the  drizzle  the  naphtha  lamps  sent  up  a  smoky 
flare,  and  the  competitive  humour  of  the 
stall-keepers  was  making  itself  heard.  Women 
with  tightly  drawn  shawls  and  no  hats 
hurried  by ;  barefooted  children  scampered 
in  and  out  of  the  damp,  dark  recesses  like 
rabbits  in  a  warren — save  that  the  rabbits 
were  infinitely  better  off  as  to  environment. 
John  Laverock,  thinking  of  the  scent  of  the 
earth  and  lanes  in  his  own  Hertfordshire, 
often  paused  just  here  to  realize  the  tremen- 
dous contrast  anew ;  but  to-night,  in  truth, 
there  was  for  him  an  inferno-like  tinge  about 
the  place  even  in  its  very  depression.  That 
one  man  could  leave  any  impression  here 
in  one  lifetime  seemed  as  impossible  as  that 
one  man  could  dig  the  weeds  out  of  a  tropical 
jungle. 

"  Perhaps  I'm  too  squeamish."  He  often 
said  something  introspective  of  this  kind. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  one-half  of  these  people 
should  never  be  permitted  to  marry,  because 


THE   BORDERLAND  71 

they  don't  realize  their  responsibilities.  They 
are  like  children  allowed  to  gratify  every 
dangerous  whim.  If  individual  freedom  fos- 
ters breeding-pens  such  as  this " 

"  What  say  ?  "  asked  "  Lamps  Out."  And 
he  laughed. 

*'  I'm  saying,  Smith,  that  this  London  of 
ours  is  like  a  well-dressed  man  with  dirty 
underclothing,  if  you  can  make  anything 
of  that.  Let's  walk  on  !  You  understand 
me,  I  believe.  I  wish  you  could  see  with 
me,  too  !  I  call  these  slums  of  ours  unsightly, 
dangerous  excrescences  that  could  be,  and 
ought  to  be,  got  rid  of  before  another  public 
library  or  recreation  ground  is  built  in  the 
suburbs.  I  love  my  country,  I  hope,  but 
I  shall  never  forget  what  I  saw  in  Germany, 
for  instance  :  scarcely  a  ragged  child  any- 
where in  the  great  towns,  and  a  pawnshop 
only  at  rare  intervals — and  that  in  State 
control.  Here  both  are  all  around  one. 
Every  incentive  seems  to  be  given  to  the 
people  to  remain  in  a  sordid,  vicious  groove. 
.  .  .  Smith  !  Do  you  know  the  girl  Bohannan  ? 
Donna,  as  they  call  her  ?  " 

"  Know  her !  "  Smith's  throat  rattled 
queerly — perhaps  jealously.  "  A  bit.  Who 
don't  ?     Dunno  anythink  good  about   her." 

"  Oh,  come  now — nothing  of  that  !  She 
wouldn't  say  that  of  you,  I  know." 

**  She  carn't  !     I'd  black   her   eye   if   she 


^2  THE   BORDERLAND 

did — ^least,  I'd  put  some  one  on  to  do  it."  He 
gave  his  stooping  shoulders  a  hitch  back, 
and  paused.  "  Harf  a  minnit — hark  !  That's 
Black  Sam,  hard  at  it  again.  Know  his 
clapper  anywhere.  He's  great,  he  is.  I'll 
back  him  against  the  p'lice  any  day." 

A  booming  voice  had  made  itself  heard 
high  above  the  manifold  noises  of  Hoxton 
Street.  Where  a  cheap] ack  usually  stood, 
a  man  with  a  bushy  black  beard  and  arresting 
eyes  was  mounted  on  a  barrel,  bending  down 
to  drive  his  words  into  a  male  audience.  He 
lacked  no  forcible  eloquence,  and  was  obvious- 
ly not  cursed  with  self-consciousness.  Every 
now  and  then  he  swung  round  from  the 
waist  as  on  a  pivot,  as  to  detect  some  one 
who  might  be  taking  stealthy  notes  in  his 
rear.  Then  he  leaned  low  again,  looking 
into  each  face  in  turn,  and  emphasizing 
every  "  point  "  with  a  fierce  pause,  and  an 
up-swing  of  his  arm  to  heaven.  Gripping 
Smith's  shoulder,  John  Laverock  drew  up  to 
listen  and  to  learn  what  he  could  from  a  man 
who  had  clearly  something  worth  telling. 

"  You  almighty  fools  !  That's  what  you 
are,  every  one  of  you  here.  Rat-faced  idiots, 
I  might  say ;  but  I  know  you're  not  that. 
I've  told  you  before,  and  I  tell  you  again  ; 
and  you'll  own  it  when  it's  too  late. 

"  Where's  it  going  to  end,  I  ask  ?  Your 
rates  go  up,  and  your  wages  stand  still  or  go 


THE   BORDERLAND  73 

down — because  there's  no  work.  Soon  there 
will  be  less,  because  every  day  the  clever 
people  are  bringing  out  some  machine  that 
will  do  the  work  of  ten  men.  You  are  against 
the  wall.  And  you  stand  it  like  sheep.  You 
don't  know  your  own  power.  And  well  your 
Jack-in-office  may  laugh,  as  he  breaks  his 
three  brown  eggs  over  the  pink  ham  on  his  but- 
tered toast  every  morning,  and  rings  the  silver 
bell  to  say  he's  indisposed  when  a  deputation 
of  starving  men  call.  You  pay  for  all  of  it. 
You  have  to  run  the  Empire  for  empire's 
sake.  But  when  your  bad  time  comes,  the 
Empire  shuts  its  eyes  and  ears  or  covers  you 
up  in  a  workhouse.  They  say  you  ought 
to  have  a  pension  when  you're  used  up  and 
done  for,  no  matter  what  your  age,  but  it 
will  cost  twenty-five  millions  a  year,  and 
they  can't  find  it.  No ;  but  they  found 
two  hundred  and  fifty  millions  for  the  war 
without  turning  a  hair." 

At  each  pause,  he  waited  for  a  "  That's 
right  enough  !  "  from  some  one  in  the  crowd. 
He  went  on,  cuttingly. 

"  There  are  twenty  thousand  men  out  of 
work  in  London  to-night ;  and  this  is  only 
October.  There  are  fifty  thousand,  if  you 
knew  it ;  but  don't  be  greedy  to  a  thousand. 
They  mustn't  beg,  they  mustn't  steal.  Oh, 
Gawd  above,  it's  a  living  marvel  they  can  go 
home  and  look  at  their  wife  and  kids'  faces, 


74         '     THE  BORDERLAND 

and  not  do  one  or  the  other  !     I  say,  are  you 
men,  or  what  are  you  ? 

"  Here,  I'll  paint  you  a  little  picture — that 
is,  if  you  can  see  one.  Here's  a  place  called 
South  Africa,  that  you  won  for  the  Empire — 
I  do  love  that  word  !  Here's  a  land  that 
turns  up  gold  or  diamonds  or  what  not  almost 
wherever  it's  scratched.  What's  become  of 
it  ?  Have  they  made  any  use  of  it  ?  Have 
they  developed  the  railways  and  all  the 
mineral  wealth  to  get  back  to  England  what 
England  paid  for  it  ?  No ;  they've  just 
turned  their  backs  on  it,  as  you  do  when 
you've  whopped  a  man  in  a  scrap.  It's 
been  left  to  a  few  stray  people — mostly 
foreigners — to  hop  in  and  open  up  the  coun- 
try and  turn  it  into  limited  UabiHty  com- 
panies. I've  only  got  one  truthful  word 
more  to  say  to  you  on  that  point ;  but  never 
forget  it !  .  .  .  The  gold  being  dug  out  of 
that  country  to-day  would  in  a  few  years 
provide  a  free  pension  for  every  man,  woman 
or  child  here  that  needs  it. 

"  You  drink,  they  say.  Of  course  you 
do.  There's  nothing  else.  You  can't  go 
in  for  motor-cars  and  week-ends,  and  sea- 
trips,  and  dances,  and — and  other  men's 
wives.  I  wish  you  could,  but  a  man  with 
money  can  do  things  that  you  mustn't.  It's 
all  the  difference.  The  magistrate  who  puts 
one  away  for  going  too  far — ^it  may  be  with 


THE   BORDERLAND  75 

drink  or  the  other  man's  wife — very  Ukely 
goes  home  and  does  the  same  thing  himself. 
They  put  down  your  gambling  club,  but 
he  can  have  his,  with  betting  tape  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  But  he  paints  it  white  and 
puts  up  velvet  curtains — you  don't.  I  don't 
know  what  you're  alive  for  at  all.  You're  a 
cursed  nuisance  to  the  country  when  you're 
out  of  work  or  down  on  your  luck." 

"  That's  right  enough  !  "  came  the  deep- 
throated  comment. 

"  There  you  are,  then — where  are  you  ? 
The  thing  is,  how  long  are  you  going  to 
support  an  Empire  that  can't  support  you  ? 
Ask  'em  straight — What's  to  be  done  ?  Send 
five  hundred  of  your  men  over  to  Stepney 
next  Friday,  and  join  the  march  to  the  West 
End.  Do  that  I  You'd  scare  those  jewelled 
hussies  in  their  furs  and  flounces.  Dig  it 
into  'em  that,  being  here,  you've  a  right 
to  live.  That's  your  cry  for  all  time  forward — 
The  Right  to  Live  !  A  fair  wage  for  work 
done,  and  enough  work  to  stop  men  from 
snarling  round  every  job  like  dogs  round  a 
bone.  I  say  to  you  that  if  you  once  realized 
the  strength  that  lies  under  your  shirts  at 
this  moment " 

"  Co-p-per  !  "  came  a  yell.  And  the  black- 
bearded  man  with  the  arresting  eyes  calmly 
kicked  his  barrel  out  of  sight  and  stood 
passive  with  folded  arms  among  the  crowd. 


76  THE  BORDERLAND 

The  constable  who  strolled  up  could  make 
nothing  of  it,  and  had  to  fall  back  on  a  mild 
*'  Move  on,  there  !  "  They  moved  on.  A 
constable  in  Hoxton  Street  carries  nearly 
his  full  weight.  Occasionally,  down  one  of 
the  side-streets,  his  brief  authority  has  been 
stripped  from  him  for  ever. 

**  Great,  ain't  he  ? "  came  up  Smith's 
husky,  admiring  rattle  through  John  Lave- 
rock's momentary  coma.  "  Can't  get  away 
from  what  he  says  anyhow,  can  yer  ?  " 

"  Er — I  don't  know,  Smith,"  John  Laverock 
answered  slowly.  "  It's  not  for  me  to  say. 
Sometimes  truth  is  dangerous,  without  a 
sense  of  proportion.  What  I  do  say,  and 
must  say,  is  that  the  people  he  talks  to  have 
it  in  their  own  power  to  make  the  first  move 
toward  a  very  different  state  of  things." 

"  Not  harf,"  "  Lamps  Out  "  agreed  cor- 
dially. "  It  only  wants  workin'  up  a  bit. 
Give  'em  a  gun  apiece,  and  let  'em  pick 
off  every  bloomin'  upstart  roamin'  the  West 
End " 

"  Nonsense,"  John  Laverock  put  in,  with 
a  warmth  that  staggered  him.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ? — that  wholesale  murder  would 
increase  trade  and  wipe  out  human  selfish- 
ness ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  he  temporized  weakly.  "  It 
'ud  wipe  out  some  o'  these  milUonaire  tykes, 
wouldn't  it  ?  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  77 

And  he  was  still  more  staggered. 

"  Very  childish  and  very  mistaken,  Smith  ; 
and  ril  tell  you  why.  I  expect  you'll  find 
that  *  these  millionaires  '  have  brought  more 
brain  and  more  hard  work  to  their  money- 
making  than  you  or  I  or  Hoxton  ever  dream 
of." 

"  Well,  what  about  it  ?  They've  got  the 
money,  haven't  they  ? — and  we  ain't." 

"  Yes  !  "  He  had  to  laugh.  "  We  won't 
go  into  that  to-night.  See  what  I  meant  ? 
How  old  are  you  ? — twenty-two  ?  Well,  then, 
you're  old  enough  to  know  what  I  mean 
by  human  selfishness,  which  is  at  the  base 
of  it  all.  Take  your  father  as  an  example — 
you  won't  be  offended,  I  know.  So  many 
children  of  his  are  brought  into  the  world 
indiscriminately.  There  is  no  attempt  to 
keep  up  with  his  responsibilities,  or  to  rear 
the  children  as  decent  members  of  society. 
They  are  born — that  is  all  he  knows.  They 
must  take  their  chance.  They  die,  or  they 
huddle  together  in  the  slums  that  bred  them. 
They  may  act  in  the  same  way  in  their  turn, 
because  it  is  in  their  blood  and  up-bringing. 
But  if,  as  he  has  at  least  five  shilUngs  a  week 
to  spare  for  beer  still,  he  put  by  that  money 
instead,  he  could  live  in  a  better  house,  and 
remember  that  your  mother  is  a  woman, 
and  feed  and  clothe  his  children " 

"  Hi.  hi !  "    "  Lamps  Out  "   nearly  choked 


78  THE  BORDERLAND 

at  the  calm  simplicity  of  it.  "  You  tell  him 
that.  Why,  he'd  up  with  his  foot  if  I  let  on 
I  ain't  got  a  bit  o'  sole  to  my  boot.  He's 
all  right  if  he's  got  his  full  load  o'  four  ale, 
but  all  wrong  when  he's  only  three  parts  *  on.' 
Come  home  Sat' day  and  bio  wed  his  smoke 
in  the  kid's  face,  and  bashed  mother  agin 
the  wall  for  layin'  hold  of  it,  and  chucked " 

"  Don't !  "  John  Laverock  said.  He  was 
very  pale  and  earnest.  "  Don't  tell  me.  It 
makes  me  doubt — ^never  mind  what.  It 
makes  me  feel " 

"  Got  to  put  down  four  ale  for  a  start, 
haven't  yer  ?  "  "  Lamps  Out  "  suggested, 
with  acumen,  in  the  pause. 

"  No  !  Why  ?  Don't  talk  such  weak  non- 
sense, Smith  !  Do  that,  and  you  have  simply 
removed  the  apple  out  of  the  pilfering  child's 
reach — the  pilfering  child  remains.  Drunken- 
ness is  not  necessarily  a  disease — don't  believe 
in  that  coward's  refuge  !  At  each  glass  a 
man  knows  full  well  whether  he  is  selfishly 
depriving  his  wife  and  children,  and  the  same 
deliberate  selfishness  allows  him  to  go  on 
to  the  stage  where  responsibility  is  drugged. 
There,  don't  let  me  say  such  things,  true  as 
they  are  !  Good-night,  Smith  !  I've  come 
far  enough.  Get  home  out  of  the  wet  as 
soon  as  you  can,  and — God  help  you  !  God 
help  us  all !  " 

He    gripped    the    thin    shoulder,    wheeled 


THE   BORDERLAND  79 

abruptly,  and  was  halfway  back  down  Hox- 
ton  Street  before  "  Lamps  Out  "  had  located 
the  sixpence  on  his  tray.  Smith  bit  it. 
**  Bloomin'  good  un,  barmy  or  not  barmy," 
he  said  to  himself — referring  to  the  donor — 
as  he  relit  his  pipe  and  debated  possibilities. 
Ere  he  had  decided  definitely  between  fried 
fish  and  a  saveloy  John  Laverock  was  drawing 
in  the  breath  of  another  atmosphere — another 
world,  it  almost  seemed.  He  had  reached 
that  quiet  stretch  between  Kingsland  and 
De  Beauvoir  Roads  where  there  are  long, 
deep  gardens,  tall  trees  and  a  peace  only 
broken  by  the  distant  clang-clang  of  the 
electric-car  bells. 

He  had  halted  with  a  distinct,  if  unneces- 
sary, sense  of  yearning  and  shortcoming. 
He  had  set  out  buoyantly  to  do  so  much, 
and  he  had  done  practically  nothing.  It 
galled  the  man  who  tried  faithfully  to  balance 
his  account  with  conscience  every  night  that 
fell.  The  days  were  ticking  out  and  forming 
a  long  chain  in  his  rear.  And,  worse  still, 
he  had  only  paused  on  a  weak  impulse — 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  Miss  Valjean's  house. 

It  seemed  now  a  matter  of  course  that  he 
should  ring  the  bell  there  on  his  homeward 
way  each  evening.  He  wanted  to  see  Bede — 
to  sit  with  him  up  in  that  quiet  room  over- 
looking the  cloister-Hke  vicarage  grounds, 
and  rest  his  physical  and  mental  self  in  a 


8o  THE  BORDERLAND 

silence  more  rich  than  all  the  talk — but 
he  did  not  wish  to  meet  Bede's  sister.  Truth- 
fully, he  could  not  have  told  why — except 
that  that  swift  look  of  hers  into  his  eyes 
seemed  of  late  one  that  in  very  manliness 
he  ought  not  to  reaUze.  It  was  uncomfortably 
like  a  window  to  her  soul,  and  he  did  not  wish 
to  look  in. 

In  a  word,  he  was  telling  himself  that  here 
in  London  the  way  of  a  man  who  essays  to 
keep  to  the  straight  and  narrow  path  is  beset 
by  manifold  subtle  complications.  And  he 
abhorred  the  necessity  for  making  cunning 
detours. 

Just  possibly,  despite  the  drizzle,  she 
would  be  embarking  on  one  of  her  periodical 
shopping  excursions — unconscious,  woman- 
like, that  the  delight  in  each  '  bargain " 
might  imply  the  misery  of  the  original  pro- 
ducer. But,  after  a  wait  of  near  thirty 
minutes,  while  he  watched  the  crimson  light 
in  Bede's  window,  his  nerves  began  to  tingle 
and  shame  him.  He  strode  forward  and 
rang  the  bell. 

*'  Good-evening ! "  he  said  to  the  Httle 
maid,  with  the  obstinate  courtesy  which  Miss 
Valjean  thought  the  one  flabby  point  in  his 
character.  And  then,  as  no  one  rustled  out 
from  the  drawing-room,  he  sank  his  voice 
just  a  little.  "  You  need  not — I  mean,  I'll 
just  call  up  and  see  Mr.  Valjean." 


THE  BORDERLAND  8i 

And  he  went  straight  up  the  stairs.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  done  that.  The 
maid  raised  her  shoulders  in  an  ecstatic  little 
laugh  as  she  listened  from  the  kitchen  door. 
She  knew  just  how  long  Mr.  Bede's  sister 
had  occupied  before  her  mirror  that  evening. 

He  reached  the  first  broad  landing,  over 
which  the  palm-fronds  arched  from  a  vase 
in  the  grasp  of  a  marble  figure.  There  was  a 
soft  swish-swish,  and  he  found  himself  looking 
into  Miss  Valj can's  face.  It  was  smiling, 
but  with  a  cold  radiance  like  that  of  winter 
sunshine ;  and  she  had  drawn  back  her 
skirts  a  thought  too  studiedly. 

"  Go  on  !  "  she  said.  "  I  mustn't  keep 
you — I  heard." 

"  And  you "  he  began,  a  little  breath- 
lessly. He  had  had  to  think  involuntarily 
of  another  stair  landing — how  near  it  was, 
and  how  inconceivably  faraway  it  seemed! — 
on  which  he  had  paused  one  night,  looking 
back  into  a  feminine  face  that  openly  scorned 
him. 

**  Oh,  I'm  going  out." 

"  Not — not  because  I  came  ?  "  He  reached 
out  his  hand.  He  would  have  none  of  that 
hide-and-seek.  And  she  stared  blankly  back, 
as  it  seemed. 

"  You  ?  The  idea  !  As  if  I  did  not  know — 
as  if  I  had  not  seen  you  standing  almost 
opposite  for  the  last  thirty  minutes  !     How 


82  THE  BORDERLAND 

very  strange  of  you  !  Why — why  do  you 
need  to  hold  my  arm,  Mr,  Laverock  ?  " 

His  hand  went  quickly  back,  and  the  icy 
Jittle  coo  in  her  voice  died  as  quickly. 

"  I  am  strange,  perhaps,"  he  said.  He 
knew  now,  too,  that  he  had  forgotten  to 
lift  his  hat.  Altogether,  it  seemed  that  he 
might  fall  back  on  reckless  indifference.  "  I 
came  to  London  to  do  great  things,  did  I 
not  ?  What  have  I  done,  you  would  Uke 
to  ask  ?  I  don't  know  whether  Louis  thought 
all  I  think,  or  saw  all  I  see,  in  Hoxton  streets. 
I  only  know " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  tentatively,  watching 
him.  "  Louis  had  all  the  same  insoluble 
problems  on  his  mind,  I  believe — except, 
perhaps,  *  Donna.'  I  cannot  answer  as  to 
*  Donna  '  !  "  she  added,  with  the  same  hushed 
emphasis. 

And,  before  he  knew  it,  his  blunt  shaft 
had  gone  back. 

"  Why  need  you  trouble  ?  She  is  a  woman, 
after  all." 

"  Certainly.  Every  whit  as  much  a  woman 
as  I  am  !  " 

This  time,  as  she  held  back  her  skirts 
lightly  for  him  to  pass,  it  seemed  absurd  to 
hesitate.  He  walked  on  down  a  brief  side 
passage,  drummed  his  knuckles  softly  against 
the  panels  of  a  door  at  the  end,  and  tiptoed 
in.    There  was  no  real  need  to  tiptoe,  but  to 


THE   BORDERLAND  83 

a  mind  like  John  Laverock's  the  hypnotic 
hush  of  this  room  veiled  something  far 
deeper  than  any  one  but  himself  seemed  to 
feel. 


CHAPTER    VII 

THERE  was  a  curtain  to  pass,  and  then 
— the  outer  world  seemed  shut  off. 
In  here  was  a  man  who  had  sat  and  looked 
death  in  the  face  steadily  for  so  long  that 
he  had  learned  to  laugh  where  one  expected 
a  shudder  :  for  so  long,  that  the  suggestion 
of  a  waiting,  hovering  shape  seemed  to  be 
an  inseparable  part  of  the  room. 

Most  axioms  lie,  but  creaking  gates  do 
hang  long  !  For  more  months  than  seemed 
possible  Death  had  been  stooping  toward 
the  man — or  boy — ^in  the  cushioned  arm- 
chair there,  literally  playing  cat-and-mouse 
with  him ;  periodically  bending  to  dart  the 
final  chill  breath,  and  then  drawing  back 
for  another  reprieve.  Twice  a  week — some- 
times oftener — a  doctor  came  and  sat  down 
opposite  him,  and  ostensibly  appeared  to 
earn  his  fee,  but  between  him  and  Bede 
Valjean  there  was  no  screen  of  make-be- 
lieve. 

"  WeU  ?  "  John  Laverock  whispered,  go- 
ing close  at  once  and  taking  both  long,  veined 
hands  in  his  strong  grasp  and  looking  down 

84 


THE   BORDERLAND  85 

at  him.     It  was  always  like  a  bather's  first 
plunge,  to  be  taken  at  once. 

*'  Well  ?  "  Bede  gave  him  back,  his  soft 
mouth  playing  quizzically,  contentedly.  Bede 
knew  him  now  better  than  any  one. 

"  Better  ?  " 

"  Much  !  Can't  you  see  it  ?  Not  going 
yet  awhile,  old  chap.  You  sit  down  ! — just 
there  !     Well  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  new,"  John  Laverock 
said,  in  the  same  subdued  way.  Ever  so 
softly  he  had  moved  back  the  agate  jar  of 
scented  cigarette-tobacco,  the  books,  and  the 
grapes  on  the  table  to  make  room  for  his 
arm,  so  that  he  could  shade  his  face  with  one 
hand.  "  That  is  why  I  felt  I  must  come  in 
again  to-night,  because " 

"  Of  course,"  Bede  said  penetratively,  in 
the  pause.  "  You  wanted  something  to 
break  your  depression  upon.  I  knew  that ; 
I  watched.  You  always  will  as  long  as  you 
keep  to  your  ideal  of  making  other  people 
something  that  they  are  not  and  never  can 
be.  I  told  you — I  told  Louis  before  you — 
that  as  the  regenerating  process  has  to  be 
begun  all  over  again  with  each  generation, 
Nature  palpably  rejects  it,  and  leaves  it  a 
mere  tattooing  affair  of  the  skin — or  the 
imagination." 

He  said  everything  in  a  sustained  series  of 
quick,   quiet  gasps,   with  now  and  then   a 


86  THE  BORDERLAND 

pause  not  accounted  for.  Sometimes  a  film 
came  down  over  his  great  dark  eyes,  and 
then,  with  his  head  ever  drawn  forward,  and 
his  breast  ever  rising  and  falHng  in  the  effort 
to  breathe,  he  looked  like  a  cage-bird  that  was 
dying  upon  its  perch.  John  Laverock  had 
not  yet — perhaps  never  would — grown  used 
to  it.  He  looked  away  and  held  his  breath 
in  those  moments.  And  then,  along  his 
veins  each  time  there  ran  the  thrill  as  Bede's 
long,  wan  fingers  reached  out  for  the  cigarette- 
papers  as  though  nothing  were  amiss.  Such 
awe  there  was  in  watching  the  mind  and 
actions  of  a  beloved  one  who  was  slipping 
away  and  did  not  cry  out  to  be  held  back. 
Bede  sat  there  only  to  think,  and  puff  his 
cigarettes,  and  wait.  Yet  he  looked  out 
upon  his  world,  and  talked  of  it,  as  calmly, 
as  analytically,  as  though  he  had  a  stake  in 
its  future  development. 

"  Yes,  you  have  told  me  that  many  times,'* 
John  Laverock  repHed,  when  he  could. 
"  And  God  has  given  you  a  mind  that  enables 
you  to  prove  apparently  all  you  say.  But 
God  has  given  me  a  stubborn  tenacity  in- 
stead. Light  must  and  will  be  brought  into 
all  the  dark  places  at  last.  Sin,  Bede,  is  as 
definite  and  as  yielding  to  influence  as  a 
disease  of  the  body — yes  !  " 

"  Hoxton  still !  "  whispered  the  other. 
"  Old   chap,    you   miss   the   great   essential 


THE  BORDERLAND  87' 

truth.  Your  '  sin '  is  everywhere  and  al- 
ways. Everybody  '  sins '  in  every  hour  of 
his  life,  negatively  or  otherwise.  But  here 
our  refined  taste  enamels  it  white.  In  slum- 
land  it  wears  its  own  colour,  and  so  jumps 
to  your  eyes  like  an  impressionist  picture. 
Over  and  over  again  I  have  been  going  to 
make  you  tell  me  just  what  you  mean  by  *  sin.'  " 

John  Laverock  sat  still,  looking  into  the 
glowing  fire,  the  hand  against  his  face  giving 
a  twitch  now  and  then. 

"  You  mustn't !  "  Bede  burst  out,  with  a 
rare  touch  of  excitement.  "  You  mustn't  ! 
You  assume  all,  and  act  as  strenuously  as 
though  it  were  proved  truth.  Religion  springs 
only  from  a  natural  human  craving  for  some- 
thing desirable  beyond  this  life.  Without 
the  crown  who  would  wish  to  bear  the  cross  ? 
That  very  fact " 

"  No !  "  John  Laverock  said,  almost 
sternly,  putting  out  his  hand.  "  No  !  I  can 
bear  it  from  any  lips  but — yours." 

"  But  I  love  to  talk  to  you,  and  see  into 
your  mind !  "  he  panted.  "  None  of  my 
vitality  can  go  in  action  ;  it  must  all  go  to 
my  brain — I  must  think !  And  sitting  here 
from  day  to  day,  always  thinking,  I  know 
perhaps  more  of  the  world  than  you  who 
move  up  and  down  in  it.  I  see  them  pass — 
I  watch  them — I  hear  often  what  they  say. 
And  what  of  it  ?     Where  you  would  grieve. 


88  THE  BORDERLAND 

I  can  smile.  I  know  beforehand  that  the 
character  of  each  one  has  been  formed  inde- 
Ubly  by  his  environment,  and  cannot  be  re- 
formed any  more  than  a  new  set  of  teeth 
can  be  grown.  I  tell  you — I  tell  you  again 
— where  no  sin  is  intended  there  is  no  sin  ! 
But  we  have  twisted  Nature  about  and  about 
to  suit  our  changing  conditions,  our  artificial 
life.  You  would  name  sinful  those  who  do 
not  conform  to  certain  conventionalities  and 
stifle  their  primitive  impulses,  whereas  they 
are  simply  natural  and  not  afraid  of  criti- 
cism. Oh,  be  honest,  whatever  it  costs  you 
to  sacrifice  your  ideals  !  But,  again,  don't 
be  too  honest.  Don't  ask  every  man  to 
pause  and  recollect  man's  first  duty  all  the 
while.  He  would  find  life  impossible ;  he 
would  find  himself  hated  by  all.  A  man 
must  be  himself,  and  nothing  else.  Life  is 
life  as  his  particular  eyes  were  fashioned  to 
see  it.  .  .  .     You  saw  her  to-night  ?  " 

It  came  as  subdued  and  detached  as  though 
no  other  words  had  passed  between  them. 
He  had  rolled  his  thin  white  tube  of  tobacco, 
put  it  to  his  lips,  and  fallen  back  exhausted. 

"  Who  ?  "  John  Laverock  brought  his 
face  round  with  an  effort.  His  mind  had 
been  sweeping  along  on  a  wild  torrent  of 
thought,  to  be  giddily  brought  to  a  stand- 
still. All  was  suddenly  quiet  and  normal 
again.     "  Who  ?  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  89 

"  Your  amber  girl !  Your  Hoxton  Queen 
Bee  !  Your  wonderful  woman  who  embodies 
in  herself  all  the  types  outside  the  social 
pale.  Your  girl  who  walks  the  streets  with 
her  calm  devilment,  her  disdain,  her  flat 
straw  hat,  her  swift  tongue,  her  hair  looped 
over  her  ears.  Did  you  think  I  did  not 
know  her  ?  Fair  and  dark,  she  is  a  London 
product — and  of  London  only.  She  fears 
neither  God  nor  man.  The  girl  against  whom 
you  have  concentrated  all  your  guns — 
Donna !  " 

■  "  Did  I— did  I  teU  you  aU  this  ?  "  John 
Laverock  asked,  drawing  a  breath  in  the 
pause. 

"  Why  not  ?  All  that,  and  much  more  !  " 
The  long  white  fingers  wavered  out  as  if  to 
propitiate  him.  John  Laverock  looked  down 
at  them,  laid  his  hand  over  them,  and  kept 
it  there.  He  had  swallowed  some  throat 
lump. 

"  I  forgot !  Honestly,  I  forgot.  You  read 
me  through  and  through,  Bede.  You  are 
like  a  judge,  sitting  there  to  pass  sentence." 

"  Then  you  must  feel  guilty !  .  .  .  No, 
no,  old  chap,  we  won't  be  artificial.  I  like 
you.  I  love  you  !  I  do  read  you  in  our 
silences — I  can't  help  it.  You  brought  her 
before  me.  You  sat  there,  that  first  night, 
and  sketched  her  in  words  from  the  life.  It 
was  a  prose  poem  if  you  knew  it.     You  were 


90  THE  BORDERLAND 

so  impressed,  so  sure  you  had  discovered  the 
mind  in  her — the  spring  from  which  all  her 
future  possibilities  might  flow,  and  which 
had  been  turned  into  a  foul  marsh  by  the 
Hoxton  exhalations — your  own  words  !  The 
next  evening  I  waited,  and  the  next — and 
the  next.  But  you  held  back.  Since  then 
you  have  gone  round  the  subject  like  one 
skirting  the  edge  of  a  pond.  Bring  her  before 
me  again  !  " 

"  It  was  not  to-night,"  John  Laverock 
said,  in  the  way  of  a  man  impelled  against 
his  will.  **  I  was  not  to  see  her  to-night. 
I  did  not  tell  you  what  happened,  because 
...  It  was  last  Thursday  evening.  I  went 
into  her  room — there  in  Phillimore  Street. 
God  knows — and  you  know — that  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  her  as  I  have  spoken  to  many 
others.  But  I  found  it  impossible,  or  so  it 
seemed  that  night.  I  cannot  explain,  but 
at  every  turn  she  pinned  me  down  to  the 
sense  of  being  a  mere  physical  puppet  like 
herself,  and  that  in  her  place  I  should  be  as 
she  is.  Since  then  she  has  avoided  me, 
looked  back  with  her  pale  smile  and  vanished 
down  some  side-turning.  To-night,  when  I 
knocked  at  her  room  again,  no  one  answered. 
That  is  all.  I  was  depressed,  I  don't  know 
why.  I  walked  back  into  Hoxton  with  bhnd 
Smith,  and  then  came  straight  on  here." 

"  Not    one    touch    of    humour    anywhere 


THE  BORDERLAND  91 

that  you  could  pick  out  of  the  prevailing 
gloom  ?  " 

"  Ah,  one  !  "  He  brightened,  as  with  re- 
lief. '*  I  looked  over  the  railings  at  No.  36 
to  call  down  to  old  Wisbey,  the  cobbler ; 
he  works  till  midnight  with  a  bit  of  candle 
in  the  area  room,  you  know — I  can  never 
pass  him  by — he  looks  like  the  sunken-eyed 
figure  of  Father  Time  kneeling  among  a  few 
scraps  of  leather.  There  is  a  morsel  of  back 
yard,  and  he  grows — actually  grows — a  few 
scarlet  runners  in  two  tubs  in  the  corner.  I 
asked  after  them  at  once,  and  he  growled  ; 
them  fish  had  come  back,  owin'  to  the  warm 
weather,  and  were  swimmin*  all  over  'em 
again.  What  fish  ?  Why,  them  fish — hay- 
fish,  of  course  ;  he  thought  I'd  lived  in  the 
country  and  knew  all  about  it !  I  had  to 
turn  away  like  a  fool  in  the  end,  and  then  I 
recollected.  Some  one  has  given  him  the 
botanical  name,  and  he  has  never  let  it  go. 
He  meant  the  white  blight — aphis." 

Bede,  watching  him,  had  listened  as  with- 
out hearing.  He  put  down  his  cigarette. 
Only  the  audible  heave  of  his  breast  broke 
the  silence  of  the  warm  room.  His  great 
dark  eyes,  with  their  velvety  depths,  looked 
into  space. 

*'  She's  quite  right,"  he  said  quietly,  but 
startlingly.  **  Never  mind  the  cobbler  ;  you 
can   take   him   that   packet   of   tobacco   to- 


92  THE   BORDERLAND 

morrow.  Don't  tell  him  that  he  ought  not 
to  smoke,  because  it  seems  to  you  a  weak, 
wasteful  habit.  It  is ;  but  our  lives  are 
made  up  of  weak,  wasteful  habits  in  food, 
dress,  amusements,  and  so  on.  .  .  .  She's 
perfectly  right — your  Donna  !  What  radical 
difference  did  you  think  there  was,  beyond 
that  you  had  each  been  reared  in  different 
grooves  ?  There  is  none.  What  did  she 
tell  you  of  herself  ?     I  want  to  know  that !  " 

"  She  told  me — that  she — that  she  had 
once  lived — with  a  man — as  his  wife." 

"  Ah  !  "  Bede  tried  to  Hft  himself  from 
the  cushions,  and  fell  back  again.  "  It's 
aU  right — don't  mind  me — you  will  be  gone 
soon,  and  then  I  have  the  long  night  to  face. 
Alice  will  come  in  and  kiss  me,  and  stand 
looking  at  me,  and  tell  me  again  that  I  must 
have  a  night  nurse.  As  if  I  could  bear  to 
lie  here  and  look  eternally  across  at  some 
respectable  old  soul  with  no  ideas,  and  her 
hands  folded  on  her  lap  !  .  .  .  Donna  lived 
with  a  man  as  his  wife  !  You  tell  me  that 
as  if  you  had  made  an  abnormal,  terrifying 
discovery.  Isn't  [she  a  natural  woman  ? 
Aren't  our  inclinations  in  that  way  purely 
as  private  and  justifiable  as  our  appetites  at 
meals  ?  " 

**  No  !  "  John  Laverock's  voice  answered, 
on  that  deep  note.     "  No  !  " 

**  I    see.     Poor    girl !     I    can    understand 


THE  BORDERLAND  93 

just  how  she  looked  at  you,  and  what  you 
felt.  Then  you  stand  pledged  to  subvert  all 
human  nature,  eh  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  he  said  again  in  the  same  rigid 
voice.  He  took  no  notice  now  of  the  thin 
fingers  groping  toward  him. 

**  Not  ?  Don't  be  hard.  I  am  not  making 
a  butt  of  your  beliefs.  But  perhaps,  up  in 
this  room  all  day,  I  can  see  sanely  and  clearly, 
whereas  all  your  manifold  impressions  are  apt 
to  run  into  one  another  like  damp  colours — 
eh,  old  chap  ?  Look  at  me  !  I  think — I 
think  that  the  thing  we  all  most  need  is 
tolerance.  She  made  her  mistake,  maybe  ; 
but  that  is  all.  You  may  make  yours  some 
day  in  another  way.  Maybe  she  loved  him 
for  the  time.  Maybe  she  loves  the  same  man 
still,  whoever  he  is.  But  he  wearied.  And  just 
so  that  weariness  exists  where  the  legal  and 
divine  sanction  has  been  given." 

"It  is  not  love.  It  is  lust !  "  John  Lave- 
rock said  unsteadily.  He  stood  up  like  a 
gladiator,  then  sat  down  again.  Bede's 
quivering,  lovable  mouth —  ! 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  Bede  whispered  again 
pantingly,  "  because  you  will  not  have  me 
here  always  to  combat,  and  you  are  just  the 
man  to  remember  with  pain.  Man  ahve,  be 
merciful  to  her,  at  any  rate  !  Haven't  you 
realized  in  thirty  odd  years  of  life  ?  A  man 
looking  upon  a  woman,  and  a  woman  looking 


94  THE  BORDERLAND 

upon  a  man,  seldom  pause  to  think.  They 
are  involuntarily  fulfilling  the  vital  law  at 
the  base  of  all  things.  For  indiscretion  they 
may  pay,  and  others  may  pay,  but  the 
immutable  law  remains.  Puritanism  is  not 
purity.  Your  *  love,'  Laverock,  is  simply 
lust  glorified !  " 

This  time  there  was  no  response.  He 
could  not,  or  he  would  not,  let  his  thoughts 
take  sound.  Out  of  their  lives  ticked  a 
number  of  minutes  unaccounted  for,  one  of 
those  pauses  in  which  the  never-ceasing 
breath  struggle  going  on  beneath  Bede  Val- 
j can's  velvet  jacket  came  to  sound  precisely 
like  the  drain  of  wavelets  down  some  distant 
pebbly  beach.  Slowly  in  John  Laverock's 
own  throat  the  swelling  grew  and  grew  ;  the 
heat  of  stifled  argument  died  out  and  left 
him  cold.  He  looked  up  at  last  with  dulled  eyes, 
and  saw  Bede  sitting  there  as  beyond  a  film. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  make  you  understand  ! 
You,  Bede,  you  only !  "  he  wanted  to  cry 
out.  "  If  you  only  knew  all  I  feel,  and  how 
hard  it  is  to  go  on  when  everything  living 
seems  ranked  against  one  !     You  do  know  !  " 

But  he  did  not  say  it.  Bede's  voice  came 
again  just  as  he  was  about  to  sway  up. 

"  Hush — listen  !  .  .  .  I  want  you  to  lis- 
ten to  that !  " 

Solemn  and  low — deepening,  ever  deepen- 
ing— majestic  in  its  inseparable  suggestions 


THE  BORDERLAND  95 

of  eternity  and  God  beyond,  came  in  a  sound. 
It  seemed  to  roll  away  past  and  present,  to 
span  the  gulf  wherein  waited  all  the  vast 
legions  of  the  pale,  cold  dead,  and  to  link  up 
little  earth  and  its  still-existent  pigmy  mil- 
lions with  the  unknown  beyond.  It  was  the 
voice  of  the  great  organ  from  the  church 
close  by.  A  pigmy's  fingers  drew  it  forth, 
but  behind  him  there  was  the  power  which 
evolved  a  universe,  peopled  it,  and  left  the 
peoples  to  work  out  their  own  salvation. 
Grandly,  appallingly,  stiU  it  seemed  in  Bede's 
curtained  room  just  then,  although  ringed 
about  by  all  London. 

"  Don't  move,"  came  Bede's  laboured 
voice,  as  from  a  distance.  The  muffled 
thunder  had  died  away.  "  Tell  me  if  I'm 
not  right.  All  that  you  felt  in  that  moment 
gives  the  keynote  to  your  character.  You 
heard  something  that  was  not !  Your  life 
is  a  series  of  such  mental  thrills.  You  can- 
not sit  stiU  and  allow  yourself  to  realize  that 
they  are  merely  emotional  myths ;  you  don't 
want  to.  You  cling  to  all  your  illusions 
about  life.  You  place  some  people  upon 
pedestals  from  which  they  must  fall,  and 
others  appear  to  you  to  be  struggling  in  a 
morass  from  which  you  must  pluck  them. 
.  .  .  Old  chappie  ! — old  chappie  !  "  He 
looked  up  with  eyes  that  were  glazed  and 
loving  and  apologetic.     He  had  caught  the 


96  THE   BORDERLAND 

other's  clenched  hand,  and  held  it.  "I 
like  you,  or  I  wouldn't  cut  you  with  the 
truth — the  truth  as  I  can  see  it.  Why 
worry  about  your  fellow-men  ?  '  Life  is 
life  !  '  You  are  trying  to  take  out  of  divine 
hands  the  divine  process.  You  are  hurling 
yourself  against  the  rocks  that  have  stood 
for  all  time.  And  you  will  find  you  must 
fail.  Because,  if  you  believe  that  God  created 
a  hell,  you  must  believe  that  God  created 
sinners  to  people  it.  Can  you,  John  Laverock, 
here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,  add  one 
or  take  one  away  from  their  number  ?  " 

A  minute  more  of  the  silence.  Something 
had  seemed  about  to  choke  in  John  Lave- 
rock's throat,  but  that  was  all.  Then  "  Good- 
night !  "  he  whispered ;  and  walked  quickly 
from  the  room. 

Outside  all  was  overwhelmingly  different. 
The  thin  warm  rain  still  descended,  the 
pavements  gleamed  blackly,  the  electric  car 
bells  clanged  at  a  distance,  people  hurried 
by  as  though  it  were  full  enough  to  be  asked 
of  them  to  reach  home  after  one  day's  work 
in  time  to  prepare  for  another.  The  roll 
of  the  church  organ  was  stilled — life  was 
hfe. 

"  No !  "  John  Laverock  said  aloud  to 
himself,  with  a  stubborn  emphasis.  ''  No, 
Bede  ;  no  !  " 

He  should  have  turned  to  the  left  for  his 


THE   BORDERLAND  97 

own  rooms.  Instead  he  struck  across  into 
Kingsland  Road,  along  which  the  stream  of 
vehicles  and  pedestrians  still  poured  north- 
ward so  strongly  that  to  move  in  the  other 
direction  seemed  like  swimming  against  the 
tide.  The  noise  seemed  like  the  tense  hum- 
ming of  wires  in  a  wind.  His  mind  was  in 
a  state  of  semi-suspension,  wanting  some 
sharp  abstraction  to  right  it.     And  it  came. 

He  did  not  know  just  how  far  he  had 
walked,  when  he  started  and  swerved  round. 
He  saw  only  a  half-clothed  boy's  heels 
twinkling  round  a  corner.  He  went  on, 
thinking  he  had  dreamed  it.  But  it  came 
after  him  again,  fainter,  with  the  same 
impish,  sing-song  mockery,  like  the  tag  of  a 
tune  with  echoes. 

"  Amber  Lou-ou-ou  !  " 

He  felt  himself  turn  white,  and  looked 
down,  as  if  the  passers-by  had  had  a  sudden 
flash-glimpse  of  his  soul.  As  he  went  on,  it 
echoed  in  his  brain  again  and  again,  and 
refused  to  be  stilled — 

"  Amber  Lou-ou-ou  !  " 

It  brought  him  back  to  the  normal,  as  if 
a  burst  in  his  ears  had  restored  hearing  and 
a  proportionate  sense  of  things.  He  looked 
up  and  saw  that  he  was  over  the  canal  bridge, 
within  a  few  score  paces  again  of  Phillimore 
Street. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

ONE  of  the  things  that  had  most  impressed 
John  Laverock  on  previous  brief  visits 
to  London  was  London's  crowd.  One  of  the 
things  that  impressed  him  yet  more,  now 
that  he  was  coming  to  know  his  London, 
was  the  fact  that  fully  one-half  of  London's 
crowd  had  solved  the  problem  of  how  to 
live  without  working. 

Was  there  a  house  ablaze  ?  Within  a  few 
minutes  this  same  crowd  had  concentrated  to 
suffocation  point,  prepared  to  remain  wedged 
and  fascinated  as  long  as  a  glowing  ember 
remained.  Was  there  a  mid-week  foot- 
ball match  or  a  music  hall  matinee,  the  same 
crowd  waited  at  the  pay-box  with  a  supreme 
indifference  for  toil ;  while  a  spectacular 
street  procession  found  them  lining  the  pave- 
ments in  their  thousands  for  hours  in  ad- 
vance. In  outward  appearance  they  were 
all  of  the  business  or  working  classes.  They 
lived  on,  they  had  money  to  spend,  and  a 
full  capacity  for  enjoyment.  And  the  eternal 
mystery  remained — how  did  they  live  ? 

The  thought  recurred  involuntarily  to  John 

98 


THE  BORDERLAND  99 

Laverock  as,  passing  a  certain  public  house, 
he  passed  as  by  natural  sequence  the  big 
figure  of  Ben  Fisher — ^inert,  motionless,  with 
swinish  slits  of  eyes  in  his  putty-like  face, 
and  the  same  huge  bowler  hat  low  over  his 
bald  head.  Ben's  physical  mould  was  not 
of  his  own  casting,  but  it  was  hard  to  think 
that  he  ever  took  off  his  clothes,  even  at 
night,  or  to  bathe  ;  hard  to  believe  that  he 
ever  stirred  from  that  shadowy  square  formed 
by  the  public  house  window ;  harder  still 
to  believe  that  he  had  ever  been  born  of 
woman. 

John  Laverock  gave  him  a  genial  "  Good- 
evening,"  and  a  keen  glance.  There  was  no 
response,  save  that  the  hairless  eyelids  came 
quite  down  over  the  slits  of  eyes. 

Only  a  few  yards  on,  he  happened  to  glance 
back.  For  a  man  so  torpid,  so  indisposed 
to  any  action  that  exhausted  the  human 
tissues  unnecessarily,  Ben  Fisher  had  vanished 
from  his  post  with  noticeable  precipitancy. 

He  turned  again  ;  Ben  Fisher,  so  far,  was 
beyond  him.  It  seemed  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world  that  he  should  right-wheel 
into  Phillimore  Street,  yet  now  he  found 
himself  walking  consciously,  and  unable  to 
do  more  than  give  one  furtive  glance  up  at 
Mrs.  Mucklehorn's  top  front  window.  The 
full-bosomed  ladies  with  folded  arms  in  open 
doorways  appeared  to  be  regarding  him  with 


100  THE   BORDERLAND 

more  interest  than  usual  on  this  occasion, 
and  at  any  moment  the  greeting  yells  of  the 
children  who  swarmed  after  him  might 
change  into  that  impish,  sing-song  **  Amber 
Lou-ou-ou  !  "  Mrs.  Mucklehorn  had  basely 
betrayed  that  harmless  involuntary  utterance 
of  his. 

Now  he  was  out  at  the  far  end.  The  long 
glaring  vista  of  Hoxton  Street  ran  before  him 
both  ways  yet  again.  Should  he  turn  back  ? 
Plenty  of  dogged  will-power  there  was  in  the 
man  ;  but  it  seemed  like  tempting  criticism 
to  run  the  gauntlet  of  Phillimore  Street  a 
third  time  that  night.  He  walked  on  a  few 
steps,  and  drew  up  to  reflect.  He  had  lost 
none  of  his  original  perseverance,  but  he 
would  be  more  discreet.  Yes,  he  would  wait 
until  he  passed  her  quite  by  accident  moving 
along  one  of  these  pavements.  His  method 
had  been  too  direct  and  impulsive,  perhaps. 
He  must  allow  himself  to  become  insensibly 
absorbed  into  the  confidence  of  these  people, 
and  not  hope  to  take  them  by  storm.  He 
had  been  vouchsafed  a  sharp  lesson  in  tact. 
He  slid  a  hand  up  to  his  eyes  for  a  moment 
and  asked  the  Almighty  to  give  him  the  help 
he  asked  for  others. 

"  Penny  the  whole  lot,  sir  !  "  said  a  woman, 
with  wheedling  pathos.  She  had  ''  spotted  " 
him  unerringly  from  the  other  side,  and  was 
pushing  a  handful  of  raw  beetroots  against 


THE  BORDERLAND  loi 

his  coat.  There  was  a  moaning  mite  of  a 
child  held  loosely  at  her  bare  breast,  and  she 
looked  as  though  her  entire  fortune  hinged 
upon  a  quick  sale.  *'  Do,  sir !  The  last 
lot,  sir  !     There  you  are — a  ha'penny  I  " 

He  had  his  intuitive  doubts,  and  he  had 
no  use  for  the  vegetable  in  that  state.  But 
it  was  the  baby  that  appealed  to  him  once 
again.  He  found  twopence,  and  left  the 
beetroots. 

As  she  darted  back  across  the  roadway  he 
heard  her  shout  to  another  woman,  "  Clicked 
again  !  "  Number  two  was  hurriedly  making 
for  him,  but  he  declined  a  deal  in  onions. 
He  was  watching  number  one.  She  had 
made  unsteadily  for  the  public  house  almost 
directly  opposite.  As  she  went  to  catch  at 
the  door  it  swung  out  abruptly.  A  sort  of 
creeping  paralysis  took  him ;  he  had  never 
been  more  certain  of  anything  than  that 
the  door  struck  the  small  head  clutched  to 
her  breast — he  saw  the  sickly  little  arms  go 
up  as  in  a  convulsion  and  fall  again.  For 
near  a  minute  he  could  not  move.  Then  he 
strode  across,  every  human  instinct  in  him 
tingling.     He  pushed  at  the  door  vehemently. 

He  paused.  No  one  saw  him  for  a  moment, 
or  no  one  troubled.  His  eyes  focussed  what 
he  would  have  described  as  a  crowded  Httle 
hell  of  noise  and  tobacco-smoke.  It  over- 
whelmed any  word  on  his  tongue. 


102  THE  BORDERLAND 

Number  one  had  a  small  glass  of  some 
colourless  liquid  in  one  hand ;  with  the  free 
arm,  while  she  talked,  she  rocked  violently 
the  potential  citizen  at  her  breast.  It  still 
cried,  its  bleat,  just  audible  in  the  deafening 
hubbub,  going  through  the  man's  heart. 
Even  the  woman  heard.  Looking  down,  she 
shook  the  child  into  silence.  And  then,  as 
with  a  maternal  qualm,  she  dipped  her  fore- 
finger rapidly  several  times  into  her  glass 
and  thence  into  the  child's  mouth.  John 
Laverock  knew  it  for  crude  gin. 

Sick  to  the  soul,  he  let  the  door  swing  and 
turned  away.  He  was  beginning  to  under- 
stand Hoxton's  infantile  death-roll  even  as 
officially  admitted.  And  Hoxton,  Louis  Val- 
jean  had  told  him,  was  a  thriving  and  whole- 
some centre  as  compared  to  other  slums  in 
this  richest  city  in  the  world.  It  made 
money  somehow,  and  it  spent  it  anyhow, 
and  the  devil  was  welcome  to  any  other 
human  consideration. 

About  to  recross,  he  was  aware  of  a  shock 
of  a  different  kind.  Maybe  it  was  the  un- 
expectedness of  it  that  set  his  blood  racing 
afresh.  There  she  was,  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  him — Donna — ^Amber  Lou  ! 

He  stared  unconsciously,  fixedly,  at  her 
with  his  grave  grey  eyes.  For  some  reason  it 
took  him  a  moment  to  believe  that  the  two 
men  with  whom  she  talked  at  the  corner 


THE  BORDERLAND  103 

were  Ben  Fisher  and — and — Cobra  King. 
At  least — no,  they  were  not  talking.  Amber 
Lou  had  her  back  to  him,  and  seemed  to  be 
studying  the  pavement  attentively  ;  but  the 
two  men  were  narrowly  watching  himself. 
They  would  have  drawn  back,  but  there  was 
not  time.  And  it  flashed  to  him  at  once 
that  he  had  been  watched  previously  :  that 
the  heavy,  hairless  man  had  acted  upon 
instructions  to  report  upon  his  movements 
in  the  vicinity  of  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's. 

Ben  Fisher  was  a  mere  pawn  upon  the 
board.  The  other  man — Cobra — was  of  an- 
other calibre.  He  was  well  dressed,  and  held 
a  cigarette  fastidiously  between  fingers  upon 
which  rings  glittered.  Every  movement  of 
the  man  was  of  the  darting,  serpentine  order, 
even  to  the  swift  turn  of  his  foreign-looking 
eyes,  and  the  swifter  smile  that  bared  his 
white  teeth.  The  action  of  his  brain,  the 
few  rapid  words  when  he  spoke,  the  smile 
that  followed,  were  all  compassed  within  a 
flash  of  time. 

Yes,  they  had  him  under  observation, 
had  been  speaking  of  him ;  and  the  passing 
crowd  between  chanced  to  have  left  this 
temporary  gap.  The  fact  held  him  in  vague 
misgiving  for  a  moment ;  in  the  next  his 
muscles  tightened  most  strangely,  and  he 
swallowed  some  many-cornered  lump.  With 
deliberate  meaning  Cobra  had  leaned  forward 


104  THE   BORDERLAND 

and  buried  his  lips  against  the  neck  of  Amber 
Lou.  She  struck  him  away,  passionately,  as 
it  looked ;  but  he  was  smiling  his  sinister 
smile  again  ;  he  had  given  the  full  indica- 
tion he  desired.  And  then,  of  a  sudden, 
Amber  Lou  turned  and  walked  away  with 
her  composed  majestic  step.  The  crowd 
intervened,  and  the  two  remaining  figures 
seemed  to  melt. 

John  Laverock  came  to  himself  and  moved 
mechanically  back  toward  the  northern  out- 
let of  Hoxton  Street.  He  had  just  reached 
the  first  comparatively  quiet  stretch  beyond 
it  when  he  felt  his  coat  plucked  sharply. 

*'  Donna !  "  he  muttered,  staring  down 
into  the  tea-rose,  contemptuous  face.  "  Don- 
na !  "  Either  she  had  crossed  the  road 
ahead  of  him,  or  she  had  been  waiting  here 
by  mere  instinct ;  it  mattered  not  which  at 
that  moment. 

"  Stand  right  under  the  lamp — let  'em 
see  you — I  would  !  "  she  said,  on  that  low 
level  note  that  was  hard  and  yet  blood- 
stirring.  **  You  do  ask  for  what  you'll  get 
one  o*  these  days,  don't  you  ?  You  do ; 
yes  !  " 

**  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  he  demanded, 
not  budging.  He  refused  even  to  be  drawn 
into  looking  apprehensively  around.  "  What 
have  I  done  ?  " 

"  Oh,  all  right !  "     With  her  baffling  Httle 


THE   BORDERLAND  105 

smile  she  was  about  to  march  calmly  away 
again ;  but  his  nerves  had  been  wrought 
up  to  a  pitch  that  night.  He  took  a  deter- 
mined stride  and  caught  her  by  the  wrist. 

"  There  !  It  is  not  all  right.  You  came 
after  me  to  say  something,  and  Til  hear  it." 

"  You  will  ?  You'll  stand  here  and  make 
me  ?  You  don't  care  two  straws  if  they 
are  watching  you  all  the  time  ?  " 

"I  do  not.  Why  should  I  ?  I  know 
that  you  were  waiting  here,  and  that  is 
enough." 

"  Yes  ;  a  damned  fool  I  was  to  take  the 
trouble,  wasn't  I  ?  " 

"  Don't,  Donna — don't !  I  can't  bear  to 
hear  any  woman  I  respect  lending  her  lips 
to  such  words."  And  the  lips  twitched.  She 
had  said  it  with  a  studied  deliberation 
that  should  goad  him  into  an  outburst. 
"  Yes,  you  do  it  knowingly ;  I  am  aware  of 
that,"  he  added  straightly.  "  But  it  won't 
deter  me  in  the  least,  as  I  told  you.  Come  ! 
I  need  not  hold  you  ;  I  trust  you.  I  knew 
there  was  something  in  the  air  to-night.  What 
have  I  done  ?  " 

She  drew  her  mouth  in  and  out,  her  blue 
eyes  looking  past  him.  He  noticed — and 
perhaps  she  was  not  averse  to  his  noticing — 
that  she  wore  some  finery  over  her  dingy 
skirt  and  blouse,  and  that  there  was  a  real 
feather  drooping  from  her  hat  to-night. 


io6  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  It  isn't  what  you've  done,  is  it  ?  "  she 
asked  absently,  after  a  pause.  "  It's  what 
they've  taken  it  into  their  heads  you'd  Hke 
to  do,  isn't  it  ?  And  if  you  can't  see  it  for 
yourself  it's  no  use  talking." 

"  Well !  "  He  looked  away,  with  a  breath 
of  desperation.  "  I  must  be  the  densest 
man  walking  Kingsland  to-night.  I  expect 
to  be  misunderstood — I  was  warned  of  that ; 
but  this  beats  me.  No,  come  here !  "  She 
had  made  another  movement,  only  to  find 
his  arm  a  bar.  For  a  moment  he  thought 
she  would  swing  him  aside  in  her  own  quick 
fashion ;  but  she  subsided  again.  It  was 
only  that  her  mouth  had  tightened,  and  her 
foot  tapped  the  pavement  ominously.  He 
had  waited  to  allow  some  people  to  pass. 
He  whispered.  *'  Donna — or  Lou — I  don't 
care  which  I  call  you — will  you  always  per- 
sist in  looking  upon  me  as  some  one  quite 
out  of  your  own  sphere — your  own  circle, 
that  is  ?  You  know  what  I  mean  !  Speak 
to  me  plainly  ;  as  plainly  as  you  were  speak- 
ing to  that  other  man  just  now  1  " 

"  You  wouldn't  like  me  to,"  she  said, 
looking  up  at  him.  "  You'd  soon  see  where 
the  difference  comes  in.  You  are  different, 
aren't  you  ?  or  you  wouldn't  be  a  preacher." 

"  A  preacher  !  "  He  had  almost  to  laugh, 
without  knowing  why.  "  I  think  you  know 
very  well  the  aim  of  the  Christian  Brother 


THE   BORDERLAND  107 

hood  Mission  to  which  I  belong — as  Mr. 
Valjean  belongs.  Never  mind  ;  call  me  that 
if  you  wish  to.     Isn't  a  preacher  a  man  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  flatly.  "If  he  sets  up  in 
that  line  it  shows  he  thinks  himself  a  good 
deal  better  than  the  rest.  Whether  he's  a 
blooming  hjrpocrite  or  not — well,  I  don't 
know,  and  I  don't  care  a  rap.  You're  a 
preacher  ;  and  Cobra  isn't." 

**  I  see.  Now  you've  spoken  plainly.  Tell 
me,  will  you,  why  the  man  should  harbour 
any  grudge  against  me,  considering  that, 
until  last  Thursday  night,  I  did  not  know 
of  his  existence." 

"  Well,  there  you  are.  His  knife's  in 
you.     I  can't  say  it  any  plainer,  can  I  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  why  !  "  he  persisted,  struggling 
between  anger  and  amazement.  "I'm  not 
blind  ;  I  guessed  at  something.  But,  why  ? 
You're  the  woman — you  know." 

"  Jest  it,"  came  the  undisturbed  reply. 
"  He's  heard  of  you  following  me  up  and 
down  Hoxton,  hasn't  he  ?  Very  likely  he 
put  you  down  at  once  as  some  one  in  his 
own  line.  You've  got  a  way  of  your  own 
that  gives  people  something  to  talk  about, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  ?  " 

"  You  have.  I  told  you  what  he  was. 
Think  I'm  joking,  don't  you  ?  He  *  did ' 
three  months  over  a  man  that  only  touched 


io8  THE  BORDERLAND 

his  beer  glass  in  mistake."  Up  and  down 
him  she  looked  in  her  critical,  belittling 
manner.  "  What  chance  would  you  stand, 
big  as  you  are,  with  a  man  who  knows  every 
trick  in  the  game,  and  would  have  his  knife 
in  and  out  again  while  you're  taking  your 
coat  off  ?  " 

"  And  is  that  the  class  of  man  to  whom 
— ^to  whom  you  would  give  yourself — have 
given  yourself  ?  "  He  said  it  with  difficulty. 
To  the  question  of  Cobra's  physical  su- 
periority he  declined  to  give  another  thought. 
But  there  was  sting  in  the  seeming  fact  that 
she  deliberately  preferred  the  other  type  of 
man  to  himself.     "Is  it  ?  " 

"  What  rubbish,"  she  whispered.  For  an 
instant  even  she  was  awed  or  irritated. 
**  You're  talking  of  long  ago." 

"  I'm  talking  of  to-night !  You  were  with 
the  man  in  Hoxton  only  a  few  minutes  ago. 
It  is  none  of  my  business,  perhaps  ;  but  to 
think  that  you,  with  all  the  possibilities  of 

a  splendid  woman  in  you "     He  broke  off. 

It  sounded  unnatural,  or  would  sound  so  to 
her.  The  words  were  bubbling  up  in  his 
throat  fast  enough,  but  could  not  find  suitable 
expression.  He  had  only  determined  one 
thing — that  she  should  not  drift  back  to  the 
**  halls  "  at  Cobra's  instigation. 

A  curious  silence.  The  tap  of  her  foot 
had  ceased.    She  had  closed  her  lips  as  with 


THE   BORDERLAND  109 

a  perverse  decision  to  tell  him  no  more — to 
keep  the  door  of  her  inner  self  quite  closed 
to  him  still.  Then  suddenly  she  cleared  her 
throat. 

"  What  d'you  want  with  me  ?  What  is  it 
you  see  in  me,  that  you're  so  upset  and 
anxious  about  me  ?  Am  I  the  only  one 
worth  troubling  over  ?  If  you  must  know, 
p'raps  I  did  you  a  good  turn  by  taking  him 
on  just  now." 

"  Taking  him  on  ? "  he  repeated  me- 
chanically. 

"  Yes.  You're  not  to  know  everything 
that's  in  my  mind,  are  you  ?  P'raps  you 
saw  Ben  Fisher  ?  Well,  when  you  see  him, 
you  always  know  there's  something  on.  Not 
that  I  care  !  "  And  her  shrug  proved  it. 
"  I  thought  I'd  just  know  what  they  were 
up  to— that's  all." 

"  And  what  was  it  ?  " 
"  I'm  to  let  you  come  after  me.     I'm  to 
let  you  come  up  to  my  room  whenever  you 
like.    That's  all." 

"  I  don't  understand — not  in  the  least," 
he  said  tensely,  watching  every  movement 
in  the  small  oval  face.  And  she  tossed  her 
head  impatiently. 

**  I  thought  not.  But  you  will.  You're 
playing  up  to  him  at  this  minnit,  aren't  you  ? 

A  tale  about  you " 

"  About  me  ?  " 


no  THE  BORDERLAND 

" and     me "     Another     mocking 

pause. 

*'  You  ?  "  he  gasped. 

" ^might  cost  you  something."  * 

"  What  on  earth " 


"  Oh,  stop  it !  "  she  put  in  wearily.  "  I 
shan't  speak  any  plainer.  You've  put  his 
back  up — that's  enough.     Keep  away !  " 

"  I  shan't  believe  it.  Donna,  I  can't." 
He  put  the  detaining  hand  on  hers.  '*  This 
is  some  idea  of  your  own.  You  think  I  am 
gentleman  enough — fool  enough — to  be 
scared.     You  think  to  frighten  me  by " 

'*  I  reckon  I  have  !  " — with  another  shrug. 
"I've  given  myself  away  to  rights  in  coming 
and  telling  you,  if  that's  anything." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Ask  yourself.  As  Ukely  as  not,  if  they 
walked  after  you,  or  cut  round  to  the  front, 
they  know  just  what  we're  talking  about. 
Oh,   they  know  all  about  you  !  " 

"  Did  you  tell  them  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  She  drew  herself  up.  "  Be  care- 
ful, won't  you  ?  Sorry  I  troubled.  I'll  say 
good-night !  " 

"  Donna  !  One  moment !  "  He  held  her, 
as  if  just  realizing,  and  looked  keenly  on  aU 
sides.  It  had  impressed  him  more  than  he 
would  own,  oddly-vague  as  it  sounded. 
"  What  you  mean  is  that  you  have  run  a 
risk  on  my  account.    I  appreciate  it — ay,  I 


THE   BORDERLAND  iii 

do  !  But  don't  fear  for  me  !  One  word  to 
the  police " 

"  You  won't.  You  won't  !  "  she  repeated, 
with  a  palpable  tremble,   drawing  back. 

Deep  into  her  defiant  turquoise  'eyes  he 
looked,  and  whispered — 

"  What,  because  he  is  the  man  with  whom 
you  once " 

"  Never  you  mind,"  she  whispered  back. 
"  Because,  for  one  thing,  it  wouldn't  pay 
you.     If  you  don't  care,  well — I  don't !  " 

She  snapped  her  fingers  in  his  face,  twisted 
free,  and  was  walking  away.  Ere  he  could 
believe  it  she  was  passing  serenely  out  of 
sight — back  to  her  Hoxton  fastnesses. 

There  was  a  metallic  shiver  of  tambourines, 
a  burst  of  fresh  voices.  Down  the  road 
with  quick  step  came  the  band  of  lasses 
who  seemed  to  have  found  the  secret  of  per- 
petual happiness,  who  feared  neither  heat, 
nor  rain,  nor  ridicule. 

"  Ask  the  Saviour  to  help  you  !  "  It  rang 
about  him  as  they  passed,  their  rapt  faces 
looking  neither  to  right  nor  to  left.  **  He 
will  carry  you  through !  "  It  died  away 
with  the  tramp  of  their  feet  in  the  distance. 

He  drew  a  breath,  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  The  great  work  is  going  on," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  In  God's  mysterious 
way  it  must  be  going  on — even  in  Hoxton  !  " 


CHAPTER    IX 

**  "\  iTIGHT  you    have  heard  anything  ?  " 

IVx  asked  Mrs.  Blinco,  with  great 
steadiness. 

Arms  folded,  she  had  sat  waiting  for  her 
husband  to  put  down  his  newspaper  and 
recollect  that  he  had  a  wife.  Men  who  read 
in  silence,  she  had  said,  were  ten  degrees 
more  selfish  than  the  average  man.  And 
this,  based  upon  Mrs.  Blinco's  standard, 
was  saying  a  good  deal.  And  for  years  Mr. 
Blinco  had  retaliated  with  the  silence  which 
rankles  in  a  talkative  woman  most. 

"  I  did  not,"  he  answered. 

"  I  knew  that,"  she  said  with  a  sniff.  "  I 
did."  She  would  not  stoop  to  pluck  the 
rustling  sheet  from  his  grasp — she  had  lowered 
herself  only  once  in  that  way.  She  sat  on, 
one  foot  swaying  to  and  fro  in  ceaseless 
eloquence.  This,  with  slight  variations,  was 
the  evening's  programme.  **  I  heard  it 
again,"  she  said  presently,  with  an  indiffer- 
ence to  match  his  own. 
"  Then  go  and  see." 

112 


THE  BORDERLAND  113 

"  Thank  you.  I  happen  to  be  as  comfort- 
able as  you  are." 

"  Then  hold  your  tongue  and  let  me  read." 

"  I  will."  She  directed  her  glance  into 
the  dying  fire,  and  whispered  to  herself, 
*'  What  a  blessing  to  know  that  I  can  support 
one  pig  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  her  husband  languidly. 
And  she  was  silent.  "  You  support  me,  do 
you  say  ?  "  he  asked,  still  more  slowly,  as  if 
on  the  point  of  a  gust  of  laughter. 

"  I  do.  I  say  that  every  helpless,  shiftless 
man  is  supported  by  his  wife.  Could  you 
venture  out  with  the  buttons  off  your  clothes  ? 
Could  you  cook  yourself  a  dinner  ?  Could 
you  do  any  mortal  thing  but  catch  a  train  up 
to  the  office  and  catch  a  train  back  ?  No, 
you'd  die  first,"  she  said,  with  well-meant 
but  obscure  emphasis.  "  I  can  do  this — I  can 
do  that — I  can  do  everything,  because  I'm 
the  woman.  You  simply  give  me  what  you 
think  you  must — just  as  you  might  do  with 
any  slut  of  a  housekeeper.  I  say  that  a 
married  woman  nowadays  is  a  machine 
bought  body  and  soul " 

"  When  did  machines  have  souls  ?  " 

"  —  I  say  that  the  passion  of  a  man  at  its 
very  best  is  pure  selfishness,  while  that  of  a 
woman  at  its  very  worst  is  a  self-sacrifice. 
A  pretty  thing,  to  think  that  Creation  can 
only  be  kept  going  by  woman's   pain  and 

H 


114  THE  BORDERLAND 

shame  !  I  wish — I  only  wish  I  could  stand 
up  and  tell  the  women  of  the  whole  world 
what  a  husband  is  when  the  veneer  is  off  him. 
They  may  well  say  :  '  Scratch  the  best  man 
breathing,  and  you  find  an  animal.'  You 
do.     By  heaven,  you  do  !  " 

"  Quite  right,"  he  agreed,  sleepily.  "  No 
one  has  cared  to  say  what  you  would  find  if 
you  scratched  a  woman,  of  course." 

"  Don't  talk,"  she  whispered,  with  sarcasm. 
"  You  may  be  missing  a  line  in  the  gambling 
column.     Don't !  " 

And,  shaking  with  silent  laughter,  he  went 
on  reading. 

"  Half-past  ten,"  she  said  after  a  while. 
*'  I'm  going  to  bed,  if  I  may." 

"  You  can't.  Your  gentleman-boarder  is 
not  in." 

"  Ah,  of  course.  I'm  the  wife — I  must  wait 
up.  Well,  I  married  a  man  :  I  deserve  all 
I  get." 

Presently  he  folded  the  paper,  rose,  shook 
his  limbs,  and  checked  a  yawn.  "  Er — I 
think  I  did  hear  something." 

"  Oh,  no,  impossible  !  No  burglar,  you've 
said,  would  ever  come  to  a  house  like  this." 

"  Burglars  be  hanged." 

He  strolled  down  the  passage,  turned  up 
the  light,  and  went  into  the  front  room — John 
Laverock's  sitting-room.  He  was  gone  about 
two  minutes. 


THE   BORDERLAND  115 

**  Well  ?  "  she  queried  sweetly. 

*'  You  left  one  of  the  glass  doors  swinging 
open,  of  course." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  did  not." 

"  Then  he  did  ;   and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

He  went  up  the  stairs,  smothering  his 
"  Good-night !  "  in  a  cough.  It  was  generally 
accepted  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blinco  had  arrived 
at  the  stage  of  bare  mutual  tolerance  when 
**  Good-night !  "  to  each  other  in  a  normal 
voice  would  have  sounded  like  a  return  to  the 
golden  days  of  courtship  and  illusion. 

Opposites  in  temperament  ought  never  to 
mate  for  a  permanency.  The  prevailing 
opinion  was  that  Mrs.  Blinco  lived  to  save 
money,  and  her  husband  lived  to  spend  it. 
And  across  the  rift  they  glared  at  each  other 
from  day  to  day,  and  tugged  it  wider  and 
wider.  And  so  it  had  become — as  it  always 
becomes — a  mere  living  on  in  order  to  die. 

She  sat  with  her  foot  still  swaying,  and  her 
gaze  fixed  upon  the  slow-moving  clock- 
hands.  Her  bitterness  nevertheless,  she  was 
deep  in  two  definite  speculations  :  how  much 
gas  the  pin-point  of  a  hall  fight  was  consuming, 
and  whether  it  would  pay  her  to  adopt  some- 
one's baby — preferably  with  "  no  questions 
asked."  The  baby's  squalls  would  at  least 
shake  her  husband's  apathy,  while  he  cer- 
tainly could  not  suggest  any  pecuniary  profit 
to  himself  over  such  a  maternal  transaction. 


ii6  THE  BORDERLAND 

Presently,  as  the  clock  stood  at  eleven,  she 
got  up,  with  a  "  That's  done  it !  "  She  was 
going  to  switch  off  all  lights  and  leave  John 
Laverock  to  grope  a  fugitively-penitent  way 
in.  A  man  who  remained  out  until  past 
eleven  o'clock,  religiously  inclined  or  not,  was 
assuredly  bent  upon  no  good.  Come  to  that, 
she  had  no  faith  in  the  professed  moral 
principles  of  any  male  breathing. 

As  she  reached  the  hall  she  heard  his  quick, 
firm  step  outside.  She  chose  to  smile  coldly 
— her  husband's  homing  step  at  times  had 
been  marvellously  clever  and  deceptive  until 
he  essayed  the  staircase.  She  threw  open  the 
door  quickly,  so  that  he  had  to  give  an 
involuntary  stumble. 

**  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said.  "  I 
never  dreamed  of  you  being " 

"  Am  I  so  late  ?  Yes,  I  am  ! — I'm  sorry 
to  have  kept  you  up.  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  felt  unwell.  The  London  air  does  not  agree 
with  me  yet,  and " 

"  The  London — what,  Mr.  Laverock  ?  "  She 
inclined  her  ear,  a  little  deaf  for  the  moment. 

"  This  air  !  I  started  off  for  a  long  tramp, 
and  went  much  farther  than   I  intended." 

"  Ah  !  Very  nice  and  very  healthy — ex- 
cept that  I  never  believe  in  night  air  for 
gentlemen,  nor  my  mother  before  me.  Would 
you  like  me  to  wait  and  dry  your  clothes,  Mr. 
Laverock  ?  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  117 

"  Pooh,  no  !  "  He  had  closed  the  door  and 
put  a  hand  to  his  temples  for  a  moment.  He 
looked  a  little  pale  in  the  dim  light,  she 
thought ;  and,  being  a  man,  he  deserved  it,  no 
doubt.  He  had  not  explained  away  that 
bruise  on  his  brow  as  yet.  "  No  ;  I  am  not 
made  of  such  poor  stuff  as  all  that." 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  she  said,  with  tight- 
lipped  impressiveness.  "  Once  get  the  rheu- 
matics in  one's  bones,  and  the  end  is  only  a 
matter  of  time,  as  my  mother  used  to  say. 
Ah,  and  she  was  a  mother ! — she  had  a  real 
man  for  a  husband." 

"  Why,  and  haven't  you,  Mrs.  Blinco?  " 
he  turned  at  his  bedroom  door  to  remark. 
Late  or  not,  it  seemed  a  good  moment  to  say 
something  that  had  gathered  in  his  throat 
several  times  during  those  past  few  weeks. 
"I'm  sure  of  it — yes  !  " 

"  Then,  if  you're  sure,  there  is  no  need  for 
anything  more  to  be  said,  Mr.  Laverock,"  she 
replied  distantly.  "  Of  course,  lookers-on 
do  see  more  of  the  game — we  are  told  so. 
Whether  they  feel  it — whether  they  know 
quite  what  they're  looking  at — well,  that's 
quite  beside  the  question,  naturally.  I  mar- 
ried him,  and  I  ought  to  be  grateful.  I  hope 
I  am.  A  woman  does  not  wed  for  pleasure* 
of  course,  as  a  man  does.  She  marries  because 
she  feels  called  upon  to  sacrifice  herself,  I 
suppose.    There's  nothing  else.     If  she  goes 


ii8  THE  BORDERLAND 

out  to  earn  a  living  she  is  ousting  the  men  from 
their  proper  sphere  ;  if  she  remains  an  old 
maid,  she  is  secretly  pitied  and  laughed  at  as 
a  *  remainder.'  And  so,  all  things  con- 
sidered " — she  passed  her  thin  red  hands 
slowly  over  each  other  and  eyed  the  crack  in 
the  ceiling  as  though  John  Laverock  was 
responsible  for  it — "  all  things  considered,  you 
can  hardly  wonder  at  the  increase  in  suicide, 
can  you  ?     It  will  go  on  !  " 

"  Well,  it's  strange,"  he  said.  He  had 
heard  much  the  same  remarks  before,  and 
confined  himself  to  nods  of  silent  sympathy. 
There  was  no  telling  precisely  whether  she 
meant  her  husband  to  hear  too,  nor  what 
view  her  husband  might  take  of  his  position 
as  a  third  party.  "  I  mean,  I  get  on  really 
excellently  with  Mr.  Blinco " 

"  You  do."  It  made  her  turn  up  the  light 
a  little,  the  better  to  nod  at  him.  "  You  do — 
yes.     You  are  not  married  to  him." 

"  Well,  no,  I'm  not."  And  she  nodded 
away  in  tart  triumph.  "  But  what  I  mean 
is,  Mrs.  Blinco,  it's  such  a  vast  pity  for  a 
hard-working  husband  and  a  good  wife  to 
drift " 

"  Who  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  ! — hardwork- 
ing, you  say  ?  My  husband  ?  I'm  glad  you 
have  seen  no  deeper  than  that,  Mr.  Laverock. 
I'm  glad  for  his  sake.  My  husband  does  not 
know  what  work  is  ! — any  more  than  you  do, 


THE   BORDERLAND  119 

I  was  going  to  say.  Did  you  ever  know  a  man 
who  would  change  places  with  any  woman  ? 
Did  you  ever  see  a  workman  who  did  not 
throw  down  his  tools  and  run — run  ! — the 
very  instant  his  time  was  up  ?  My  good- 
ness, no  !  And  you  never  will.  A  woman 
has  quite  enough  to  do  when  she's  first 
married.     When  she  has  six   children " 

"  But  you  have  not  six  children,  Mrs. 
Blinco." 

"  I  might  have  had  !  "  she  retorted  severely. 
"  When  she  has  six  children,  I  say,  her  hus- 
band expects  her  to  do  six  times  the  amount 
of  work  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  on  the 
same  money.  Nature,  if  you  wish  to  know  it, 
cursed  woman  in  the  very  beginning,  and  kept 
her  cursed,  as  far  as  the  world's  treatment  of 
her  goes.     I'm  sure " 

"  Hush  !  Let  me  speak,"  he  said.  There 
were  hollows  of  weariness  under  his  eyes,  but 
he  was  drawn  to  say  a  good  word  for  his  own 
sex — and  for  the  man  upstairs  in  particular — 
if  possible.  "  Now,  it  seems  to  me  there  are 
only  one  or  two  really  important  points  on 
which  you  are  at  variance.  To  think  that 
a  mutual  understanding  might  pave  the 
way " 

"Oh,  don't.  Don't  begin  that!"  She 
waved  it  away  with  both  arms.  "If  you 
do,  I  shaU  think  you  know  not  what  you  say  ! 
In  fact,  I    read  it  all  in  the  Sunday-school 


120  THE  BORDERLAND 

books  years  ago.  Try  Blinco.  Tell  him  that. 
Don't  always  expect  the  woman  to  take  the 
first  step  toward  the  impossible." 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  smiling.  "  The  woman  is 
the  softer,  and  can  do  wonders  if  she  will. 
Why  " — he  put  out  his  hand,  and  sank  his 
voice — "  you  loved  him.  I'm  sure  you  did. 
Then,  you  love  him  still,  now  he's  Darby  and 
you're  Joan — well,  ahem,  nearing  it,  at  any 
rate.  Suppose,  now,  you  have  had  a  few 
cold  words  together  this  evening.  It's  hard, 
I  know  ;  but,  in  the  morning,  meet  him  with  a 
forgetful  smile,  and  kiss  him  and — and  give 
him  for  breakfast  the  little  relish  he  used  to 
like  ;  and  then " 

'*  Ha  !  "  She  had  been  staring  hard.  She 
sniffed  rapidly.  "  And  then  give  him  the 
little  relish  he  likes  for  tea,  and  let  him  smoke 
in  the  bedroom,  and  provide  him  with  a  new 
wife  when  I  get  a  bit  drab.  In  a  word,  let 
the  woman  wear  out,  while  the  man  rusts  out 
— the  way  of  the  world  !  No,  Mr.  Laverock, 
if  I'm  not  keeping  you  up,  that  is."  She 
stooped  toward  him  with  great  earnestness. 
"  I'm  not  one  to  complain  ;  I'll  put  up  with 
my  fate,  if  it's  got  to  be.  All  I  can  hope  for 
now  is  to  be  allowed  to  lay  by  a  few  shilHngs 
for  the  day  when  I'm  released  or  done  with. 
And  that  I  wiU  do  !  " 

"  But  if  money  cannot  buy  you  happi- 
ness  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  121 

"  It  can,  and  does.  Without  it,  I've  proved 
you  stand  up  to  be  knocked  down  again  in 
this  life.  And  I'm  no  longer  a  willing  skittle, 
I  assure  you.  Don't  talk  to  me  about 
money !  I've  lived  longer  than  you,  Mr. 
Laverock — although  you  might  not  think  it 
to  look  at  me.  When  we  hear  of  a  person 
who  has  lived  so  conscientiously  that  he  could 
save  nothing,  we  say  *  It  was  God's  will ' — 
and  then  forget  it.  When  we  hear  of  a  man 
who  has  sweated  his  workpeople  and  got 
rich  by  sharp  practice  and  *  rigging  '  stocks 
and  shares,  we  say  that  nothing  succeeds  like 
success — and  make  him  a  baronet.  You 
can't  enlighten  me  !  All  these  pretty  sayings 
are  frauds  when  tested.  Very  few  do  good 
and  blush  to  find  it  known  nowadays,  but 
blush  with  annoyance  if  it  doesn't  leak  out ; 
and  so  on.  But  I'm  tired.  I'll  wish  you  a 
very  good-night,  Mr.  Laverock,  and  a  little 
more  insight  into  the  ways  of  this  world  as 
they  are,  and  not  what  they  seem  to  be  !  " 

The  gas  was  shut  off  with  a  sharp  snap. 
He  heard  her  rattle  the  door-bolts  emphatic- 
ally and  go  up  the  staircase.  He  was  sorry 
for  her,  in  a  sense,  and  had  endeavoured  in 
every  way  to  make  his  own  presence  in  the 
house  as  little  felt  as  possible  ;  but  he  was 
telling  himself,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  quiet 
back  room,  that  he  wished  he  had  left  to  Miss 
Valj  can's  superior  finesse   the  choice   of    his 


122  THE  BORDERLAND 

apartments.  Now  that  he  had  been  made  to 
reaHze  Mrs.  Blinco's  aim  in  life,  it  would  be 
doubly  unpleasant  to  tell  her  that  he  was 
contemplating  a  change.  In  fact  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  could  do  it. 

Taking  off  his  damp  shoes,  he  had  gone  on 
mechanically  to  remove  his  coat  and  vest. 
Then,  with  a  little  laugh,  he  called  to  mind 
that  he  had  had  neither  tea  nor  supper  yet. 
The  supper  would  be  set,  and  the  gas  left 
burning,  in  the  next  room. 

He  had  only  a  folding  door  to  pass.  Yes, 
the  supper  was  laid,  and  a  letter  served  partly 
to  conceal  the  thinness  of  his  shaving  of  ham. 
He  tore  it  open — a  letter  from  Louis  Valjean 
brought  a  whiff  of  his  own  beloved  Hertford- 
shire that  seemed  very  precious  to-night.  He 
sat  down,  and  pushed  back  the  plates,  to 
read  and  absorb  every  word. 

"  ...  Let  me  know  something  about 
Bede.  He  has  written  to  me  here  twice,  but 
he  speaks  only  of  you — not  of  himself.  I  am 
hoping  and  trusting  that  some  word  of  yours 
may  pierce  the  fatalistic  mantle  he  has 
wrapped  about  himself.  Sit  with  him,  talk 
with  him,  John,  whenever  you  can  ;  and  I 
shall  picture  myself  there  with  you  both.  If 
there  should  seem  any  change  for  the  worse — 
but  I  cannot  bear  to  talk  of  that.  You 
know !  While  we  profess  to  welcome  our 
Hereafter  as  the  summit  of  happiness,  it  is 


THE   BORDERLAND  123 

strange  how  we  do  everything  in  human 
power  to  cling  to  this  Hfe. 

"  You  will  be  anxious  to  know  about  my 
own  health.  Nothing  organically  wrong,  I 
hear.  Your  doctor  here  says  I  was  com- 
pletely '  run  down.'  My  rapid  strides  back 
to  health  have  surprised  him — perhaps  pleased 
him,  as  he  has  to  drive  four  miles  to  see  me. 
How  do  these  people  fare  in  times  of  sickness? 
Truthfully,  John,  glorious  as  this  stretch  of 
poppy  and  corn  country  is,  I  do  not  feel  that 
I  would  exchange  places  with  you  perman- 
ently. The  people  themselves  find  no  joy  in 
existence.  There  are  no  lights,  no  shops, 
and  no  stimulus  to  enterprise  or  effort  what- 
ever. Human  life  here  strikes  one  as  utterly 
stagnant  and  motiveless,  with  the  iron  rod  of 
the  landed  proprietor  over  all ;  while  yet  I  am 
afraid  that  our  friend  the  universal  enemy 
finds  a  good  deal  for  the  idle  hands  to  do 
under  the  surface. 

"  You  seem  to  be  shocked  by  the  moral 
atmosphere  around  you  there.  But  if  this 
village  is  typical  of  English  rural  life,  it  is 
I  who  should  be  aghast.  And  I  hear  to-day 
of  a  local  divine  resigning  his  living  as  a  pro- 
test against  the  *  rank,  open  immorality  of 
the  week-end  parties  held  among  the  local 
gentry,'  which  is  discussed  to  the  detriment 
of  the  whole  country-side.  I  may  meet  him 
shortly,  and  will  ascertain  the  truth. 


124  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  It  struck  me  oddly  to  find  that  very  few 
of  the  older  couples  here  have  been  legally 
married,but  have  mated  more  or  less  promiscu- 
ously, with  terribly  muddling  results  as  far 
as  their  children  and  grandchildren  are  con- 
cerned. The  fact  that  the  church  is  three 
miles  distant  is  something  of  an  excuse  on 
Sundays  ;  but  the  poaching  that  goes  on  in 
the  week  appears  to  be  in  the  local  blood.  Can 
we  wonder  ?  Starvation  wages  rule  here ; 
and  the  brains  and  souls  are  starved  as  well. 
Some  pen  greater  than  mine  could  write  a 
telling  impeachment  of  rural  life,  I  am  afraid. 

"  There  seems  no  real  vigour  or  reaching- 
power  in  the  Church  here  :  a  mere  parrot-like 
muttering  of  responses,  a  cold  sermon  high 
above  the  minds  of  the  congregation,  and 
such  a  fervent '  Ha  !  '  of  relief  when  the  ordeal 
is  ended.  No,  it  is  not  worship  of  God  :  it  is 
a  mere  clinging  to  traditions.  I  greatly  fear 
I  have  offended  the  Rector — who,  by  the  by, 
is  surely  prostituting  the  deepest  Chris- 
tian ideal  by  accepting  the  living  with  a 
Rectory  and  £300  a  year,  and  paying  a 
curate  £80  per  annum  to  do  every  atom  of 
his  work  ?    This  is  our  National  Church  ! 

"  I  called  to  see  him,  and  found  him  enter- 
taining a  garden-party.  I  ventured  to  speak 
of  what  poverty  and  utter  apathy  I  had  seen 
in  the  villages  so  far,  and  heard  that  it  had 
always  been  so,  and  always  would  be  so — the 


THE  BORDERLAND  125 

people  did  not  strive  for  any  betterment  and 
could  not  appreciate  it ;  and  so  forth.  I 
must  have  looked  what  I  felt  :  I  was  asked 
to  call  some  other  day.  I  could  not  help  it, 
John — I  had  to  speak  !  I  gave  him  word  for 
word  your  own  unshakable  conviction  that 
the  Constitutional  Church,  based  for  so  many 
centuries  on  pomp  and  financial  Hues,  and 
not  upon  a  spontaneous  desire  to  lift  the  fallen 
as  our  Master  commanded,  was  mainly  sup- 
ported by  a  fear  of  shattering  old  idols  in 
glass  cases,  and  must  surely  crumble. 

"  I  don't  feel  that  I  am  in  touch  with  God 
in  this  Church.  I  am  simply  impressed  by  a 
theatrical  sensuousness — by  the  shadow  of 
the  real. 

"  You  will  be  grieved  to  hear  that  Betty 
Sorrell,  the  woman  in  the  last  house  by  the 
lane,  was  caught  by  the  keepers  on  Monday 
night  while  poaching  dressed  as  a  man.  There 
was  a  hand-to-hand  fight  in  the  woods,  I  hear. 
It  may  have  been  due  to  that  that  her  child 
was  bom  in  the  town  gaol  that  same 
night  .  .  ." 

Without  moving,  John  Laverock  strained 
his  eyes  upward  so  that  he  could  see  across 
the  room.  He  thought — nay,  he  knew — 
he  had  heard  a  thin,  gurgling  sound  that 
conceivably  could  come  only  from  a  human 
throat. 

He  was  not  frightened — the  sensation  of 


126  THE  BORDERLAND 

not  being  alone  in  his  room  went  too  deep  for 
that.  He  sat  on  in  a  sort  of  incredulous 
stupefaction,  little  thrill  after  thrill  trickling 
along  his  nerves.  He  sat  on  until  his  brain 
allowed  him  to  realize  for  a  surety.  There 
was  a  man  standing  cramped  and  stiff  and 
still  behind  the  heavy  curtain  at  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  old-fashioned  glass  doors. 
There  was  a  man  who  had  stood  there  so  long 
that  some  irrepressible  sound  had  betrayed 
him. 


CHAPTER   X 

HE  appeared  to  go  on  reading.  He  was 
like  one  staring  at  a  bomb  that  might 
at  any  moment  explode.  He  took  in  all  the 
probabilities.  Did  the  man  know  that  he 
knew  ? 

There  was  no  movement  yet.  He  had 
never  looked  at  the  curtains  closely  before. 
They  were  of  thick,  rusty  material,  and  appar- 
ently quite  opaque.  The  table  stood  be- 
tween, but  if  he  gave  a  stealthy  movement 
to  the  right,  there  was  nothing  to  impede 
one  bound  that  would  bring  him  sheer  to 
the  spot.  Then  he  could  throw  out  his  arms, 
enfold  the  curtain  with  its  living  burden, 
and  give  his  shout. 

All  this  he  told  himself  in  a  tense,  analytical 
way,  while  yet  he  sat  steeped  in  the  uncertain 
and  growing  horror  of  the  thing.  He  even 
made  a  calculation  as  to  where  the  man's 
knees,  protruding  slightly,  gave  the  key  to 
the  man's  size ;  and  where,  higher  up,  one 
clenched  hand  seemed  to  lend  a  slight  tremor 
to  the  material.  But  when  he  went  to  make 
the   soundless   movement   to   the   right,   he 

U7 


128  THE   BORDERLAND 

found  that  his  muscles  were  not  responding  to 
his  brain.  His  body  seemed  a  dead  weight 
of  metal,  and  the  chair  beneath  him  a  magnet. 
It  was  the  consciousness  of  eyes  that  perhaps 
could  see  him,  and  of  a  mind  that  might  be 
waiting  with  a  counter-movement.  Singu- 
larly enough,  from  first  to  last  there  did  not 
occur  to  him  the  idea  of  a  movement  to  the 
left  and  a  bound  for  the  door. 

He  sat  on,  Valj can's  letter  gripped  so  tightly 
that  it  seemed  to  grow  thick  between  his 
fingers.  He  heard  twelve  strokes  boom  from 
the  church  near  at  hand,  and  thought  of  Bede 
up  in  that  warm,  silent  room,  and  wondered 
if  there  were  such  a  thing  as  cerebral  telepathy 
in  truth.  He  knew  that  he  had  been  numbed 
because  he  could  feel  the  blood  crawling 
again  in  his  limbs. 

Two  men  passed  the  house,  talking  in  deep 
tones,  their  footsteps  drawing  a  dull  clang 
from  the  pavement.  There  was  tremendous 
awe  in  the  bare  realization,  that  next  moment, 
that  he  had  let  them  pass.  Pooh  !  Pooh  1 
Pooh !  He  whispered  the  nerving  syllable 
to  himself  three  times.  He  recalled  a  similar 
moment  in  the  mission-house  away  in  Hert- 
fordshire. In  the  thick  of  a  dark  night  he 
had  heard  dull,  inchoate  sounds.  He  had 
crept  down  in  his  night-shirt,  withdrawn 
the  bolts  of  the  back  door  with  infinite  stealth, 
sprung  out — and  all  but  throttled  a  gipsy- 


THE   BORDERLAND  129 

tramp  who  was  stealing  his  faggots.  Where 
was  the  essential  difference  now  ? 

Half-unconsciously,  his  head  still  down,  he 
reached  out  his  hand  toward  the  mantelshelf. 
The  curtain  did  not  move — no — no  !  He 
leaned  his  body  in  the  same  direction,  as  to 
find  something  he  wanted.  He  could  not  see 
it.  Acting  splendidly,  he  was  upon  his  feet. 
His  back  had  to  be  turned  for  an  instant,  and 
the  mere  fact  brought  out  a  prickly  heat  upon 
him.  It  proved  the  spur.  With  a  sharp, 
sudden  "  Who's  there  ?  ",  he  leaped  for  the 
spot. 

"  Oh,  Gawd  !  " 

It  was  strained  out  gaspingly.  Something 
slid  out  convulsively  from  the  curtain  as  he 
clutched  it — something  that  felt  like  a  thick 
eel  going  down  between  his  arms.  It  doubled, 
straightened  up,  and  stood  at  bay  against  the 
wall  there.  And  then — all  the  varied,  accumu- 
lated sensations  oozed  out  of  John  Laverock 
with  a  weakening  rush.  He  was  looking  into 
the  heavy,  hairless  face  of  Ben  Fisher,  with 
its  sickly  smile  and  fish-beUy  pallor. 

"  Ben  Fisher  !  "  he  said  to  himself.  It 
needed  the  pause  of  quite  a  minute  to  con- 
vince himself  that  Amber  Lou's  words  of  that 
night  were  not  materializing  in  an  evil  dream. 
"  Ben  Fisher  !  " 

"  '  Sorl  right,"  Ben  said,  feeling  at  his  puffy 
throat.     A  blotchy  flush  was  tinting  his  face, 

I 


130  THE  BORDERLAND 

and  in  his  eyes  was  an  overture  at  mutual 
understanding  more  loathsome  than  leprosy. 
"  You  don't  want  no  upset.  More  do  I. 
I  wouldn't — I  wouldn't  make  no  sound,  if  I 
was  you." 

John  Laverock  plucked  at  the  curtain, 
and  let  it  fall  again. 

"  He  put  you  here,"  he  whispered  at  once. 

"  You've  got  it,"  Ben  assented  thickly. 
*'  It's  him  you  want,  not  me.  I  knew  some- 
thin'  'ud  come  of  it.  Told  him  so  all  along. 
But  there  you  are  !  " 

"  Stand  where  you  are,  and  please  don't 
move,"  John  Laverock  said  in  the  pause. 
He  was  ashamed  now  of  what  seemed  sheer- 
est cowardice.  Perfectly  clear  the  next  step 
appeared,  and  yet  he  found  himself  weighing 
consequences.  He  had  his  sensitiveness  as 
well  as  his  resoluteness.  He  walked  across 
and  sat  down  at  the  table,  trembling  with  the 
reaction.  He  stood  up  again,  stern  and  grey. 
It  was  incredibly  weak  in  him  to  have  tem- 
porized for  an  instant !  "  Now !  I  have 
often  asked  people  what  you  do  for  a  living. 
This  answers  me.  I  am  compelled  to  give  you 
in  charge  for  attempted  burglary,  and  you  may 
work  for  the  next  six  months  or  so." 

"  You  know  better,"  the  other  man  rattled. 
"  Housebreakin'  at  the  outside.  I  was  here 
long  afore  twelve  struck — afore  eleven.  There's 
the  winders,  to  prove  it.    The  bloke  come 


THE  BORDERLAND  131 

through  and  locked  me  in.    That's  all  there  is 
in  it.     May  I  die  !  " 

"  All  ?  You  hope  to  brave  it  out  in  that 
way,  do  you  ?  I'm  going  to  tell  you  that 
you  are  a  scoundrel,  Fisher  ;  and  a  contempti- 
ble specimen,  if  there  be  any  degrees  in 
villainy.     A  scoundrel !  " 

"  Very  likely,"  he  muttered.  The  lids 
were  half  down  over  his  straw-coloured  eyes, 
so  that  their  expression  was  problematical. 
"  Hold  hard,  before  you  say  any  more  of 
that,  though." 

"  What — what    do   you   mean  ?  " 

"  There  you  are  !  "  He  went  to  the  length 
of  a  leering  wink.  He  was  furtively  button- 
ing the  coat  across  his  chest  now.  "  I  on'y 
know  what  I'm  told.  I  was  asked  to  slip  a 
message  under  the  winder  there,  and  found  it 
open,  and  thought — and  thought  I  might  as 
well  lay  it  on  the  table  to  make  sure  no  one 
else  got  it.  'Fore  I  knew  where  I  was,  the 
bloke  had  come  through  in  the  dark  and 
locked  up — had  me  like  a  rat.  I  should  ha' 
undone  'em  and  been  outside  in  another  minnit 
and  no  fuss  at  all,  on'y  you  come  in,  and 
I  had  to  keep  quiet — jest  as  it  was  to  be,  like." 

John  Laverock  stood  stiff,  with  a  long, 
unwavering  look  that  made  him  stir  uneasily. 

"If  I  wished,  to  I  cannot  trust  a  word 
that  you  say.  What  right  have  you  in  this 
house  at  all  ?     If  you  had  a  message  for  me. 


132  THE  BORDERLAND 

why  should  it  not  reach  me  in  the  ordinary 
way  ? — Why  must  no  one  else  see  it  ?  Answer 
that  ?  " 

"  Not  so  loud,"  he  muttered,  peering  round. 
"  If  you  can't  take  a  hint  there's  others  will, 
and  sharp." 

"  Answer  me  !  "  John  Laverock  took  a 
step,  thoroughly  roused  now.  "  What  have 
you  laid  your  hands  upon  since  you  entered 
this  room  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  Nothin'."  He  seemed  hurt  and 
amazed.     "  Nothin',  if  I  never  move  again." 

"  It  is  a  lie.  I  know  just  what  has  hap- 
pened. You  came  at  that  man's  instigation 
to  leave  a  message,  as  you  call  it.  You 
found  the  doors  ajar — my  own  fault — and 
you  set  to  work  to  thieve  anything  that  came 
handy."  He  stepped  quickly  close.  "  Here 
it  is — here  they  are  !  I  knew  it.  I  only 
want  to  look  at  a  man's  face  once  to  know 
what  he  is  capable  of."  He  had  tapped  two 
bulging  coat  pockets  in  turn.  "  Now,  have 
you  anything  to  say?  " 

"  All  right."  He  drew  a  hand  across  his 
mouth.  **  Put  me  away,  and  I'll  get  even 
for  it  inside  a  month.  S'help  me,  I  will 
that." 

"  We'll  see.     Put  everything  here." 

For  a  minute  he  stood  with  head  lowered, 
breathing  heavily  like  an  ox  brought  to  the 
shambles.     Laverock'^  eye  and  pointing  finger 


THE  BORDERLAND  133 

did  not  waver.  A  minute  more,  and  three 
articles  had  been  slid  with  inexpressible 
furtiveness  on  to  the  table,  while  the  fixed 
faces  of  the  two  men  almost  touched.  Then 
Ben  Fisher  stood  back,  like  one  purged  and 
absolved. 

"  That's  the  lot,"  he  said,  "  if  I  never  move 
again." 

A  Dresden  shepherdess,  a  feather  cushion, 
and  a  small  clock — the  familiar  tick  of  which 
John  Laverock  had  not  missed  until  that 
moment. 

"  And  now  Til  have  this  '  message,'  "  he 
said  briefly.     "  Then  I    think  I  shall  have 
fathomed  the  extent  of  to-night's  dirty  work. 
Put  it  there." 
•*  Not— not  me." 

"  You  refuse  ?  "  He  went  back  a  step. 
"  I  don't  mind.     Quick  !  " 

"I'll  bash  your  brains  out,  you  arister- 
cratic  pup,  .if  you  touch  that  bell,"  Fisher 
breathed.  He  felt  at  his  waistbelt,  and 
licked  his  palms.  There  was  as  much  of  the 
hyena  as  the  swine  in  the  man.  "  Touch  it, 
and  I'll  leave  you  stone  dead." 

He  suddenly  threw  himself  forward — , 
Laverock  had  seemed  to  hesitate.  There 
was  a  dull  crack,  and  he  went  back,  held  to 
wonder  stupidly  at  a  man  who  could  strike 
him  with  an  open  hand  when  a  clenched  one 
might  have  broken  his  jaw. 


134  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Put  it  there,"  John  Laverock  said  again, 
as  quietly  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
**  I  mean  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,  if  I  can. 
You  needn't  fear  giving  yourself  away  ;  your 
face  shows  you  have  done  that  already. 
You're  only  the  agent ;  I  want  the  principal. 
Out  with  it !  " 

And  out  reluctantly  it  came  from  his  waist- 
coat pocket — an  envelope  folded  in  halves, 
but  surprisingly  clean.  John  Laverock  felt 
a  thrill  which  he  kept  to  himself. 

**  Thank  you.  Step  back  again,  and  mind 
what  you  are  up  to." 

He  obeyed.  The  situation  was  not  develop- 
ing according  to  precedent ;  something  in 
John  Laverock's  restrained  method  was  be- 
ginning to  overawe  him  unpleasantly.  And 
Laverock,  opening  the  envelope  steadily,  read 
the  message.  Fisher  could  have  tripped  him 
up  easily  now,  so  still  and  absorbed  he  stood, 
as  the  meaning  of  it  travelled  to  his  brain. 

It  was  couched  somewhat  in  the  type  of  a 
sporting  challenge. 

"  Certain  and  final !  Make  no  error  this 
time  !  If  J.  Laverock,  Esq.,  thinks  to  hold 
up  his  head  in  this  neighbourhood  another 
day,  this  is  a  straight  and  genuine  offer  that 
won't  be  repeated.  If  he  chooses  to  come 
down  with  a  twenty  pound  note  by  Tuesday 
next,  he  may  hear  no  more  of  it.  If  not,  as 
sure  as  Hell's  hot  Hoxton  will  be  made  too 


THE  BORDERLAND  135 

hot  to  hold  him.  It's  known  he's  been  after  a 
girl,  to  wit,  Lou  Bohannan,  for  weeks  past, 
and  it's  known  to  a  few  he  was  up  in  her  room 
for  near  an  hour  last  week  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  and  that  he  tried  the  same 
game  to-night,  to  say  no  more.  Lou  Bohan- 
nan won't  deny  it,  any  more  than  she'll  deny 
what  she's  been  in  the  past,  as  every  one  knows. 
There's  a  dozen  witnesses,  if  they're  wanted, 
and  there's  no  error  about  what's  wha't  this 
journey.  So  J.  Laverock  can  hold  his  tongue 
or  find  himself  in  a  bad  box.  It's  no  odds  to 
the  writer  of  this  ;  but  it  may  turn  out  trumps 
with  the  Christian  Brotherhood  concern.  If 
the  twenty  pounds  isn't  handed  to  the  door- 
keeper at  the  Slade  Club,  Kingsland  Road,  by 
10  p.m.  Tuesday  next,  in  an  envelope  marked 
'  J.  K.,  Private,'  he  had  better  buy  a  mill- 
stone for  his  neck  than  come  round  Hoxton 
again.     Fair  words  and  final  !  " 

There  was  a  long  pause.  A  half-smile  had 
twitched  John  Laverock's  face.  Then,  nod- 
ding comprehensively,  he  returned  the  mess- 
age to  its  envelope. 

"  Disguised  or  not,  our  friend  the  Cobra 
writes  quite  a  creditable  hand,  Fisher.  I'm 
sorry  I  cannot  oblige  him  in  the  matter,  small 
as  the  amount  may  seem  to  him  in  the  cir- 
cumstances. I  hope  it  won't  be  himself  who 
is  removed  from  Hoxton.  You  know  what 
this  means  for  both  of  you,  of  course  ?     I 


136  THE  BORDERLAND 

impound  this  letter.  I  have  you  both  in  a 
trap  from  which  you  cannot  escape.  I  shall 
take  one  day  to  consider  it.  If  I  do  what  I 
ought,  it  will  mean  anything  from  two  to 
three  years'  imprisonment  for  you." 

"  You  won't,"  Fisher  said  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice.  All  the  excitement  had  died 
down  unaccountably.  Within  and  without 
there  reigned  a  stark  silence,  as  if  London  all 
around  were  drugged.  ''  If  you're  a  man 
you  won't." 

"  Is  that  your  usual  experience  ?  "  He  was 
at  the.  window,  and  had  slipped  back  the 
fastenings,  and  taken  out  the  two  sash- 
screws  which  had  hampered  Fisher's  exit. 
The  same  smile  was  twitching  his  lips,  but 
Fisher  was  not  to  know  that.  "  My  dear  man, 
blackmail  never  yet  scared  the  man  who  had 
not  laid  himself  open  to  blackmail.  De- 
pend upon  that.  And  you,  in  your  heart, 
know  just  how  much  truth  there  is  in  this  foul 
composition.   Eh  ?   I'll  hear  you  answer  that." 

"  Arst  him,  not  me,"  Ben  whispered,  still 
staring,  coma-Uke.  "  Wouldn't  matter  two 
straws  to  me  if  you  made  up  to  every  gel 
round  the  place,  same  as  he  does." 

"  Meaning  that  you're  not  a  man  but  a 
beast,"  John  Laverock  said.  He  was  as  cool 
and  composed  now  as  though  a  great  difficulty 
had  been  swept  away.  "  I  ought  to  feel  sorry 
for  you,  but  I  can't.     It  is  such  men  as  you 


THE  BORDERLAND  137 

who  poison  all  the  good  work  of  others.     One 
word  more  !     Where  was  this  letter  written  ?  " 

"  In — ^in  a  pub." 

"  And  where  did  you  leave  him  ?  '* 

"  Down  the  road,"  was  the  vaguely-hoarse 
reply. 

"  And  what  did  you  get  for  doing  it  ?  " 

"  Nothin*— not  as  yet." 

"  Exactly.  You  were  to  share  in  the 
profits.  You  were  in  the  scheme."  John 
Laverock  thought  for  another  minute,  and 
then  drew  open  the  left-hand  window.  "  Very 
well ;  you  can  go." 

"  Go  ?  " 

**  Yes.  I  have  done  with  you.  I  hold  the 
evidence,  and  that  is  quite  sufficient.  This 
way !  " 

Ben  Fisher  edged  a  step  out,  and  then 
paused.  Not  for  one  instant  did  he  believe 
that  the  thing  ended  here  ;  a  way  out,  in 
that  off-hand  manner,  rose  high  above  his 
philosophy.  And,  being  what  he  was,  there 
was  something  else  seething  in  his  nutmeg  of 
a  mind.     Blackmail ! 

"  This  way  !  "  John  Laverock  repeated, 
sharply.  "  You  have  done  all  you  came  to  do !  " 

He  did  not  like  the  look  in  the  man's  half- 
closed  eyes,  but  he  was  attributing  it  solely 
to  nervous  dread  of  developments.  Fisher 
came  level,  and  paused  again,  looking  out 
into  the  roadway  as  if  he  feared  being  seen. 


138  THE   BORDERLAND 

The  unwholesome  scent  of  his  big  body,  the 
noise  of  his  half -suppressed  breathing — both 
were  very  distinct.  And  then,  of  a  sudden, 
with  a  treachery  as  irresistible  as  typical  of  slum 
practice,  he  had  both  his  great  thumbs  hard 
over  the  "  apple  "  of  the  other  man's  throat. 

John  Laverock  saw  a  crimson  mist — felt 
something  flicked  from  the  other's  lips  into 
his  face.  There  was  no  tangible  sound — 
simply  a  swaying  to  and  fro  on  the  carpet, 
with  those  bulging  hands  clamped  around 
his  neck  and  throttling  the  Ufe-breath  out 
of  him.  He  was  strong ;  he  had  led  a 
clean,  simple  life ;  he  could  have  met 
Ben  Fisher  on  level  terms  and  given  him  the 
thrashing  of  his  life.  But  strength  was  use- 
less— never  thought  of — while  he  fought  to 
get  back  his  breath ;  while  the  crimson 
slowly  changed  to  purple  and  thence  to 
black  ;  while  the  great  roaring  grew  in  his  ears. 

It  was  a  thunder  as  of  many  voices  shout- 
ing, of  bells  pealing — followed  by  a  muffled 
silence  through  which  came  the  faint  echo  of 
that  impish,  sing-song  "  Amber  Lou-ou-ou  !  " 

And  then  he  lay  quite  still  as  he  had  crashed 
down,  his  head  striking  the  wall  with  a  thud. 
Something  had  been  snatched  from  his  pocket 
and  the  gas-light  turned  out.  The  glass  doors 
closed,  and  he  was  quite  alone,  with  all  the 
look  upon  his  upturned  face  of  a  man  who 
could  never  tell. 


CHAPTER   XI 

UP  the  smooth,  slimy  sides  of  a  black  pit 
a  man  was  crawling — slowly  crawling. 
His  feebly-straining  knees  and  fingers  lifted 
him  a  few  feet,  and  then  he  slid  back  again 
almost  as  many,  to  begin  the  inert  process 
again. 

It  was  so  deep  a  pit  that  no  definite  sound 
from  above  could  reach  him  yet — not  yet. 
He  seemed  to  have  crawled  thus  far  in  the 
course  of  years  from  a  nameless  dark  abyss 
into  which,  did  he  cease  to  struggle,  he  must 
topple  back  for  ever.  At  times  he  flung  back 
his  head,  with  an  inarticulate  moan,  to  stare 
upward.  Far  above  he  could  see  it — the 
faint  disc  of  light.  Was  it  any  nearer  ? — 
was  it  ?  O,  God,  yes,  a  little  !  He  closed 
his  eyes,  leaned  forward,  and  fought  on. 
Soon — soon,  perhaps,  some  eye  above  would 
discern  the  Hving  speck  climbing  the  pit  side. 
In  time,  if  his  soul  did  not  dry  up  in  despair, 
he  might  clutch  at  fingers  thrust  down  to 
pluck  him  over  the  edge.     On,  slowly  on  ! 

And  in  time,  dreamlike  as  it  seemed,  he 
found  himself  gripping  the  fingers.     He  jdt 

139 


140  THE  BORDERLAND 

himself  being  dragged  slowly  over  the  lip,  his 
numbed  limbs  hanging  helpless.  There  was 
a  swooning  blank,  and  then  a  bursting  dawn 
of  light  in  his  eyes — a  rushing  sound  in  his 
ears.  He  was  lying  upon  an  altar  in  the  dim 
light  of  some  vast,  arched  cathedral.  The 
far-away  organ  sounded  low,  the  distant 
voices  of  choristers  made  the  hush  holy. 

It  died  away.  But  he  did  not  desire  to 
move — not  yet.  The  sensation  of  utter  still- 
ness, utter  suspension  of  every  faculty,  after 
that  struggle  from  the  depths,  was  too  in- 
finitely sweet.  Hours  seemed  to  pass  before 
his  heavy  eyelids  lifted  a  little  as  without  his 
knowledge,  ever  so  little,  but  enough  to  show 
him  a  face  that  he  had  known  in  that  other 
existence  on  earth. 

It  was  Alice  Valjean,  sitting  there  so  motion- 
less that  he  seemed  to  be  looking  at  a  wax 
figure.  The  next  effort  of  his  brain  to  right 
itself  told  him  that  the  clutching  fingers  were 
hers  ;  the  blood-warmth  from  them  seemed 
to  be  slowly  entering  into  his  own.  One  more 
spell  of  the  vague  awe,  and  then  it  was  made 
known  to  him  that  at  regular  intervals  a 
tremor  passed  down  her  figure,  and  her  hand- 
clasp tightened. 

The  light  from  some  window  seemed  to 
catch  upon  her  set  face  ;  she  appeared  to  be 
looking  out  as  at  something  no  one  else  could 
hope  to  see.    And  presently  the  soul  awoke 


THE  BORDERLAND  141 

and  thrilled  and  shuddered  within  him.  She 
had  stooped — stooped  with  a  mechanical 
movement  that  suggested  repetition  at  inter- 
vals. She  was  kissing  him.  Her  lips  touched 
his  eyes,  his  forehead,  his  mouth.  She  sat 
back.  He  lay  quite  still  as  before,  the  shudder 
dying  away  within  him. 

He  would  not  look  again.  Never  in  life 
must  she  know  that  her  kiss  had  touched 
more  than  unconscious  flesh.  He  lay  motion- 
less until  his  instincts  had  groped  their  slow 
way  to  the  position.  He  could  feel  the  bed- 
clothes beneath  him,  and  knew  that  he  had 
lain  there  a  long  time.  Soon  his  subtle  sixth 
sense  assured  him  that  it  was  his  own  bed, 
and  that  he  was  in  his  right  mind.  But  the 
realization  must  have  occupied  a  long  time. 
When  at  length  it  dawned  upon  him  in  his 
innate  sensitiveness  that  he  was  deceiving 
the  woman  there  by  his  silence,  and  he  gave 
that  convulsive  twitch  of  his  arm  and  stared 
up  fully,  the  light  upon  Miss  Valj  can's  face 
had  been  obscured  by  blue  dusk. 

She  shrank  away  with  a  little  frightened, 
doubting  cry.  Slowly  she  craned  back  again, 
her  hand  feeling  for  his  as  for  the  first  time, 
her  eyes  searching  his  face.  He  was  vaguely 
glad  that  the  rest  had  seemed  so  unreal — that 
a  genuine  vast  wonder  could  stare  back  from 
his  own  eyes. 

**  Oh,  you  know  me  ?  "  she  cried   softly. 


142  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  You  can  see  it  is  Alice — Miss  Valjean  ? 
Yes,  he  does — he  does  !  .  .  .  Oh,  where  has 
your  mind  been  ?  What  does  it  all  mean  ? 
.  .  .  No,  no,  you're  not  to  speak — not  to 
move  yet.  But  you  know  me  ?  you  won't 
drift  away  from  us  like  that  again  ?  " 

**  Where's  Bede  ? "  he  whispered.  It 
seemed  to  form  and  sound  without  his  know- 
ledge. 

"  Bede  ?  "  She  moved  back  a  little,  look- 
ing around.  She  was  trembling.  "  Why  do 
you  want  Bede  ?  You  have  been  very  ill ; 
you  have  lost  two  whole  days  from  your  life. 
What — what  made  you  think  first  of  Bede  ?  " 

He  gazed  at  her  with  the  hollow  eyes  that 
in  two  days  appeared  to  have  doubled  in  size. 
The  three  days'  growth  of  hair  upon  his  face 
made  it  seem  whiter  than  it  was.  The  firm- 
ness of  his  jaws  stood  out  a  little  too  dis- 
tinctly, the  flesh  above  them  having  fallen  in. 
But  if  his  physical  part  had  responded  to  the 
havoc  in  his  mental  being  during  that  long 
climb  from  the  pit,  he  should  have  been  a 
skeleton. 

"  Two  days  ?  "  he  said  disbelievingly,  in 
the  same  quick  breaths.  "  Why — who  brought 
you  here  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  want  me — want  any  one  ?  " 
she  faltered,  bending  very  still.  While  he 
lay  like  a  sleeping  child  she  had  felt  herself 
exceedingly   brave,    and   even   palpitatingly 


THE   BORDERLAND  143 

proud  of  her  vast  temporary  responsibility ; 
but  now  he  knew,  and  all  was  suddenly 
different.  And  no  welcome  consciousness  had 
dawned  in  his  face  yet.  '*  Oh,  we  thought — 
we  didn't  know  what  to  do.  But  she  had 
sat  here  for  two  days  and  nights,  and  I  made 
her  go  upstairs  and  lie  down.  And  I'm  afraid 
— I'm  afraid  she  has  gone  to  sleep.  Gone  to 
sleep,  and  I  said — I  said  I  would  wait  here 
until  the  doctor  came  again." 

'*  Who  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Mrs.  Blinco.  She  wouldn't  hear  of  a 
nurse,  or  of  carrying  you  to  the  hospital." 
She  retreated  a  little  farther  from  his  stare. 
"  Don't  you  know  anything  of  what  has 
happened  ?  " 

The  man  turned  his  head  and  moaned  in 
his  realization  of  helplessness  like  a  boy.  It 
was  not  for  her  to  hear,  or,  if  she  heard,  to 
try  and  understand. 

He  faced  round  again.  It  had  to  be  met 
and  endured.  We  are  not  measured  by  our 
weakness  when  ill,  but  by  our  strength  when 
in  health. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  with  an  effort.  Just  a 
trace  of  colour  had  come  back  to  his  skin. 
"  I'm  very  sorry."  He  put  out  his  hand. 
**  I'm  very  sorry.     I  knew  nothing." 

And,  for  some  reason,  she  turned  away  and 
burst  into  tears.  It  was  not  at  all  in  keeping 
with  the  nurse's  role,  but  even  a  nurse  may 


144  THE  BORDERLAND 

be  no  more  than  a  woman.  Maybe  it  was 
the  sincerity  in  his  voice  that  had  sunk  so 
deep  into  her.     He  was  sorry  ! 

"  Don't  cry,"  he  whispered.  Lumps  had 
been  gathering  in  his  own  throat.  "  Don't 
do  that.  It  cannot  be  helped.  Perhaps, 
if  we  knew  all,  we  ought  to  thank  God  for  one 
more  mercy." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  half  doubtful,  very 
small  voice. 

He  waited.  She  knelt  down  slowly  by  the 
side  of  the  bed.  The  man's  eyes  closed,  and 
he  seemed  to  be  muttering  something  in  the 
silence.    Then  she  was  on  her  feet  again. 

'*  Here — here — ^you  were  to  drink  this.  I 
forgot — I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing. 
Do  !  " 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  He  lay  passive, 
as  her  arm  crept  beneath  his  head,  as  he  felt 
how  it  shook.  She  drew  him  as  close  to  her 
breast  as  she  could  without  seeming  to,  and 
held  something  to  his  Hps  in  a  glass.  A  good 
deal  of  it  ran  down  his  shirt  front,  and  was 
lost,  but  a  little  trickled  down  his  throat, 
and  in  a  minute  seemed  to  be  galvanizing 
every  fibre  in  his  body. 

"  I'll  sit  up,"  he  said.  "  This  can't  be— 
I'm  not  as  bad  as  you  think.     Yes,  try  me  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  will  not !  "  She  let  the  head 
slip  back,  and  put  her  cool,  delicate  hand  to 
his  forehead  commandingly  for  a  moment. 


THE  BORDERLAND  145 

"  Wasn't  it  strange,"  she  asked  breathlessly, 
"  you  should  come  back  to  real  consciousness 
while  I  was  here  ?     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do  ,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  do.  But 
how  came  I  here  ?  " 

"  Hush,  you're  not  to  talk  at  all,"  she  said 
very  earnestly.  That  subject  was  too  ab- 
stract and  too  profound  to  be  entered  upon 
just  now.  "  I  shall  have  to  be  going  soon — 
unless  Mrs.  BHnco  shouldn't  wake.  You 
must  say  now  just  what  you  would  like  to  be 
done.  I  wish  you  would  !  It's  not  nice  to 
say,  but  I  really — I  really  cannot  somehow 
take  to  that  person  upstairs.  I  don't  know 
why  she  should  have  taken  everything  into 
her  own  hands,  as  though  you  were  her  own 
flesh  and  blood." 

John  Laverock  did.  Mrs.  Blinco  was  not 
playing  the  Good  Samaritan  with  purely 
charitable  motives.  But  of  that  he  would 
not  speak. 

"  You  must  wake  her,"  he  said,  after  the 
pause.  **  I  will  settle  with  her  afterwards. 
I  shan't  be  a  burden  long  to  anybody.  What 
doctor  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  Doctor  Prothero.  I  don't  know  him. 
Her  own  doctor,  I  expect.  I  couldn't  very 
well  bring  another.  Only  think  ! — we  did 
not  know  until  late  last  night  that  anything 
had  happened  so  terrible.  Are  you  listening  ?  " 
His  eyes  had  closed.     "  Do  I  worry  you  ? 

K 


146  THE   BORDERLAND 

Is  your  pillow  soft  enough  ?  Shall  I  lift  you 
...  all  right,  I  won't !  "  He  had  flinched. 
"  No,  we  knew  nothing,"  she  whispered  on, 
still  craning  above  him  as  though  ready  to 
draw  back  at  any  instant.  "  A  note — a  dirty 
note  was  pushed  under  our  door,  to  say  you 
were — oh,  dying  !  And  no  one  knows  who 
put  it  there." 

The  eyes  opened  again  and  looked  at  her 
with  fixed  intentness.  That  stare  did  not 
relax  until  he  had  recalled  everything  that 
had  passed  in  the  adjoining  room  on  a  night 
which  seemed  years  back. 

"  Then,    no    one     knows "      He   half 

struggled  up,  his  throat  straining  to  sound 
something.     It  frightened  her. 

"  Lie  still — oh,  lie  still !  I  couldn't  bear 
it  if  you  were  taken  bad  again  like  that. 
Why  must  you  know  all  at  once  ?  Then 
there's  nothing  to  tell  you — we  thought  you 
could  tell  us  !  You  had  a  fit  of  some  kind,  and 
you  struck  your  poor  head — no,  don't  touch 
it !  All  Mrs.  Blinco  says  is  that  she  found 
you  lying  upon  the  floor  in  there  on  Wednes- 
day morning.  I  can  scarcely  believe  it. 
And  now  it  is  Friday  evening.  You  have 
only  moved  and  talked  strangely  at  intervals, 
and  taken  a  drain  of  a  drug  twice.  And  why 
those  windows  should  have  been  found 
unfastened — ^there,  it  is  aU  such  a  mystery. 
I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  !  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  147 

"  I  knew,"  he  said.  He  had  been  very 
white  again,  and  his  hands  clenched  upon 
the  coverlet  for  a  moment.  He  was  pre- 
paring himself  for  the  lie — the  lie  that  would 
end  all  at  once.  "  It's  no  mystery.  I  knew. 
I — I  opened  the  windows  myself.  I  felt  bad  ; 
I  remember  falling  against  the  wall — quite 
well.  I  could  not  save  myself.  My  head 
struck  it — I  know  now." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  said  doubtfully. 
"  I  mean,  you  seemed  so  strong — so  unlikely 
to  do  anything  of  that  kind." 

"  In  the  midst  of  life,"  he  whispered,  look- 
ing away,  "we  are  in  death.  You  and  I — 
aU  of  us  !  " 

That  was  all.  She  dared  to  hang  breath- 
lessly over  the  bed  for  more  than  a  minute ; 
but  no  new  note  was  to  be  struck.  It  was 
not  to  be  shown  her  whether  he  accepted 
her  presence  there  as  a  mere  matter  of  fem- 
inine duty,  or  whether  his  silence  was  a  sign  of 
some  deeper  masculine  thought.  She  drew 
away,  uncertain  whether  to  assume  coldness 
or  not.  In  such  a  position,  she  could  be  only 
very  dear  to  him,  or  sink  the  woman  entirely 
in  the  nurse.  And  he  had  not  asked  her  to 
remain,  even  temporarily. 

She  was  wildly  conscious  of  not  being  able 
to  do  for  him  all  that  was  required  of  her. 
She  was  doing  nothing.  And  he  had  been 
to  the  threshold  of  the  Unknown  and  back 


148  THE   BORDERLAND 

again,  and  he  was  physically  starved.  She 
wrung  her  hands  and  bit  her  lip  as  she  stood 
back  where  he  could  not  see  her.  She  did  not 
want  Mrs.  Blinco  ;  and  yet — ^if  only  Mrs. 
Blinco  would  come  in  and  let  her  steal  out 
for  a  few  minutes  ! 

It  was  practically  dark  now.  She  lit  a 
lamp — there  was  no  gas  in  this  room — and 
placed  it  so  that  his  face  was  shrouded  in 
shadow.  Of  what  could  he  possibly  be  think- 
ing ?  Was  he  thinking,  or  had  his  mind 
swooped  into  the  darkness  again  ?  She  stole 
forward  a  little.  She  saw  that  he  looked  like 
a  dead  man,  but  that  he  breathed  ;  and  that 
was  all.  She  wrung  her  hands  desperately 
again  in  secret.  She  knew  it  now  :  she  could 
never,  never,  nurse  a  man  who  had  no  exclu- 
sive claim  upon  her  ! 

The  folding  doors  over  there  shut  out  all 
sounds  from  the  street.  Just  when  the  silence 
had  so  sunk  into  her  that  she  told  herself 
she  must  cry  out  if  he  moved,  she  heard  the 
doctor's  carriage  draw  up  sharply.  A  rat-tat 
went  through  the  house — a  doctor's  dignity 
is  paramount  to  all  other  considerations. 
Even  Mrs.  Blinco  must  have  heard  it. 

No.  Rat-tat  came  again,  even  louder. 
John  Laverock  half  started  up.  "  Lie  still !  " 
she  gasped,  and  ran  out. 

"  Dear  me  !  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  doctor, 
bustling  in  and  striking  his  silk  hat  against 


THE  BORDERLAND  149 

the  gas-bracket.  "  Where  are  we  ?  All  in 
darkness  ?    Surely  patient " 

"  Oh,  he's  aUve  !  "  she  gasped,  confusedly. 
It  is  singular  how  the  most  composed  of 
women  are  fluttered  in  the  medical  presence. 
"  He  has  talked  quite  rationally.  I  gave 
him  the  draught.  But  he  must — he  must 
have  some  one  there  with  him.     He  wiU  die  !  " 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  there  with  him  !  " 
said  the  doctor,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes ;  but — but  I  mean,  some  one  who 
knows  what  to  do  !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  doctor  again,  as  he 
went  in.     **  Dear   me  !     This   won't   do  !  " 

She  held  her  breath  to  listen  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  flew  up  the  staircase.  *'  Where 
are  you,  Mrs.  Blinco,  oh,  where  are  you  ?  You 
must  come  down  at  once.     You  really  must !  " 

A  door  opened,  a  candle-light  shone  out, 
and  Mrs.  Blinco  was  looking  at  her  with 
swollen  eyes. 

"  Good  gracious  me,"  she  said,  "  you'd 
frighten  any  one.  I  couldn't  have  a  death 
in  my  house.  Why,  I  thought  you  were  so 
used  to  sickness,  and  anxious  to  be  with  him  ?" 

"  I  am  !  But — but  the  doctor's  here.  Oh, 
be  quick  !  " 

They  stumbled  down.  The  doctor  was 
sitting  calmly  by  the  bedside  holding  John 
Laverock's  hand,  and  talking  in  a  quiet, 
ordinary  voice. 


150  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  It's  wonderful,"  he  said,  looking  round  at 
them.  "  I  say  it's  wonderful.  I  was  fully- 
prepared  to  find  brain  fever  pouncing  on  him. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  Now,  come, 
which  of  you  two  good  ladies  is  looking  after 
him  ?  You  ?  "  Mrs.  Blinco  had  gone  for- 
ward while  Miss  Valjean  stood  in  the  throes 
of  a  bursting  "  I  !  I  !  "  "  Well,  then,  will 
the  other  leave  the  room  ?  One  is  enough. 
He  only  needs  quiet  and  sleep.  You're  a 
wonderful  man,  sir,  and  that's  all  I  need 
say!" 

As  cold  as  ice  Miss  Valjean  stood  at  the 
door.  Not  wanted  !  For  a  minute  she  could 
not,  would  not,  move — she  felt  so  sure  that 
an  imploring  stare  from  John  Laverock's  eyes 
would  bid  her  to  drop  all  other  considerations 
and  remain.  But  he  did  not  seem  to  give  her 
a  second  thought.  It  was  Mrs.  Blinco  who 
raised  him  into  a  sitting  position,  and  un- 
fastened his  shirt-front,  while  the  doctor  got 
out  a  thermometer.  She  watched  in  a  sort  of 
unconscious  fascination.  And  then  suddenly 
the  doctor  turned  his  head,  saw  her,  stood  up, 
and  saw  fit  to  motion  her  sharply  out. 

In  the  obscurity  of  the  front  room,  stifling 
a  great  cry.  Miss  Valjean  drew  on  her  hat 
and  gloves.  Her  hand  hard  to  her  lips,  she 
went  along  the  passage,  found  the  lock,  clicked 
the  door  behind  her,  and  was  gone.  The 
woman  not  wanted  is  the  saddest,  bitterest 


THEMBORDERLAND  151 

woman  on  earth — save  the  woman  who  has 
been  wanted  and  then  cast  aside. 

The  long  night  ticked  by.  Dawn  came, 
flushing  the  sky  over  London  with  lilac  and 
saffron,  and  the  rush  of  the  strenuous  human 
tide  down  the  Kingsland  Road  had  begun. 
John  Laverock  thought  of  it  all — thought  of 
it  as  something  that  he  had  never  expected 
to  witness  again.  He  had  taken  a  little  nutri- 
ment and  slept  for  seven  hours  without  stir- 
ring, while  Mrs.  Blinco  sat  and  dozed,  or 
swayed  her  foot  and  looked  at  the  ceiling  for 
a  financial  inspiration.  More  nutriment  had 
been  silently  handed  him  at  8  a.m.,  and  he 
took  it  humbly,  conscious  of  his  dependent 
position.  He  could  not  keep  offering  thanks, 
because  he  divined  that  Mrs.  Blinco  set  no 
great  store  upon  verbal  gratitude.  And  now 
she  had  washed  his  face,  and  combed  his 
hair,  and  remarked  encouragingly  that  a 
beard  would  suit  him  better  than  it  did  most 
men,  although  she  couldn't  understand  why 
the  "  things  "  were  wanted  at  all,  being  neither 
use  nor  ornament.  Most  men  with  beards 
looked  about  as  foolish  as  a  middle-aged 
man  in  knee-breeches. 

It  all  exhausted  him.  He  lapsed  into 
another  stupor.  When  he  awoke,  soon  after 
midday,  Mrs.  BUnco  was  not  in  the  room, 
and  he  felt  quite  able  to  get  out  of  bed  with- 
out   her    assistance.      He    essayed   it,    and 


152  THE  BORDERLAND 

found  himself  Ijning  stretched  upon  the 
carpet. 

**  There's  a  nice  thing,"  she  said  placidly, 
when  he  lay  back  upon  the  pillows  once  more. 
Secretly  she  was  not  regretting  the  incident. 
"  That's  men  all  over  !  If  you're  paying  for 
a  nurse,  Mr.  Laverock,  you  must  let  the  nurse 
earn  her  money.     I'm  sure  I  try." 

He  felt  like  weeping  in  his  mortification. 
But  he  laughed  the  ghost  of  a  laugh  instead. 

"  Do  you — do  you  think  Miss  Valjean  will 
come  to-day  ?  "  he  asked.  He  felt  no  actual 
pain  now — merely  a  terrible,  inexplicable 
heaviness. 

"  I  don't  somehow  fancy  so,"  Mrs.  Blinco 
replied,  with  slow  emphasis. 

"  I  hope  not,"  he  whispered. 

**  And  so  do  I,"  she  agreed  grimly. 

"  I  mean — I  mean,  I  can  hardly  expect  it 
of  her." 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you  mean.  I  mean  the 
same.  If  she  comes,  I  shaU  say  you  have  got 
up  and  gone  out." 

**  Oh,  don't  do  anything  of  that — don't 
wound  her  !  " 

**  Wound  her  fiddlesticks  !  All  a  woman 
like  that  could  do  in  a  case  of  illness  is  to 
knock  up  a  fantastic  jelly  and  leave  it  on  the 
doorstep.  She  does  '  fancy  work,'  I  expect. 
H'm  !  Women  who  do  *  fancy  work  '  don't 
generally  fancy  work." 


THE   BORDERLAND  153 

*'  She — she  has  a  sick  brother  to  attend 
always." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  him,"  Mrs.  Blinco  said 
decisively.  Then  she  had  to  close  her  eyes  and 
droop  her  head. 

"  That's  what  I  mean,"  he  breathed.  "  It 
can't  go  on.  You  will  be  worn  out.  What 
will  your  husband  think  ?  " 

"  Think  ?  As  much  as  he's  able  to,  I  sup- 
pose— that  much."  She  snapped  thumb  and 
finger.  ''  Three  good  meals  a  day  covers 
everything  with  most  men.  " 

He  was  silent.  He  did  not  know  whether 
to  feel  most  sorry  for  her,  or  for  her  husband, 
or  for  himself. 

"  You  should  certainly  have  taken  me  to 
the  hospital  at  once,"  he  ventured,  after 
thinking  a  bit. 

"  Bah  !  "  she  said  calmly.  "  And  have 
you  put  on  a  slab  and  cut  up  like  a  shin  of 
beef.  They'd  have  gloried  in  getting  hold  of 
a  body  that  couldn't  feel  anything  for  two  daj^s. 
There  wouldn't  have  been  half  of  you  left." 

And  now  it  was  wearing  on  toward  dusk 
again.  She  had  propped  him  up  in  her  no- 
mincing-matters  fashion,  and  was  watching 
to  see  if  he  perversely  turned  pale  and  slid 
down.  He  really  felt  almost  well,  he  kept 
saying.  And  the  doctor  had  been  again, 
and  had  bustled  out  with  the  same  muttered 
"  Wonderful !     Wonderful !  " 


154  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Mrs.  Blinco,  you're  to  go  straight  up- 
stairs and  lie  down,"  he  commanded,  sud- 
denly, almost  brokenly.  He  had  been 
looking  at  her.  "  I  say,  yes  !  Put  the  bell 
here,  so  that  I  can  ring  if  I  want  you.  I'm 
all  right.     You're  not !  " 

"  Then  I  think  I  will,"  she  said,  not  averse 
to  showing  that  she  could  scarcely  keep  her 
speech  coherent.  She  had  really  withstood 
an  ordeal  with  acrid  determination  that  he 
only  now  realized  in  full.  "  God  forgive  me, 
though,"  she  hesitated,  "  if  I  should  go  dead 
off  and  that  doctor  came  banging  again." 

"  He  won't.  Let  him  go  again,  if  he  does. 
You  must !  " 

She  had  placed  the  bell  and  nutriments 
near  him.  Every  now  and  then  she  stumbled 
drowsily,  and  it  distressed  him  keenly.  She 
was  just  turning,  with  a  hand  to  her  forehead, 
when  there  came  a  half-hearted  rat-tat  at  the 
door.    She  sat  down. 

"  There  you  are.  I  knew  some  one  would 
come.     I  knew  it." 

"  Then,"  he  said  warmly,  "  if  it  should  be 
Miss  Valjean,  she  can  come  in  and  sit  with 
me.  Or  it  may  be  some  one  from  the — but 
they  don't  know,  do  they  ?  Anything — 
anything — so  long  as  you  snatch  a  little  rest 
before  the  night  comes  !  " 

She  went  out.  He  heard  a  mumbling. 
Then  she  was  back. 


THE   BORDERLAND  155 

**  It  is  not  Miss  Valjean,"  she  said.     "  It 

is "     She    swayed    and  caught    at    the 

wall. 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  he  implored.  "  TU  get  up. 
I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  Never  mind  who 
it  is  !     What  matters  ?  " 

"  It's  a  girl  who  says — says  she  knows 
you  in  your  Mission  work.  Wants  to  speak 
to  you  very  particularly  about  business. 
Knocked  twice  last  night.  Don't  believe  her 
— I  never  heard  it." 

"  Ask  her — no,  never  mind.  Let  her  come 
in  a  minute,  if  she  wishes  to.  I  can't  think. 
Yes,  yes,  it  is  some  one  I  know.  Show  her 
in,  and  then " 

He  lay  back,  feeling  deathly  faint.  For 
a  moment  he  lost  touch  with  passing  events. 
Only  a  mere  moment.  Then  the  door  had 
opened  again,  and  into  the  room,  and  halfway 
across  it,  with  a  calm,  composed  step,  came 
Donna — Amber  Lou. 

"  Is  it  all  right  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Blinco. 

There  was  a  deep,  strange  struggle  within 
him.  He  thanked  God  unconsciously  for 
the  creeping  dusk  that  half  hid  his  face. 
Then  he  whispered  back  steadily. 

"  Yes  !     It's  my  friend." 

Mrs.  Blinco  was  in  the  comatose,  "  giving 
way "  state  that  required  nothing  more. 
She  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and  then  her  feet  were 
dragging  up  the  staircase. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  door  had  closed.  Amber  Lou 
looked  at  it,  and  back  again  at  him, 
as  if  uncertain  what  was  going  to  happen  of 
her  cool  temerity.  Or,  perhaps,  the  look  of 
John  Laverock's  face  was  not  just  what  she 
had  expected. 

In  that  curious  pause  he  took  in  every 
detail.  His  heart  had  thumped :  it  had 
seemed  so  impossible  for  Mrs.  Blinco  to  mis- 
take her  for  anything  but  what  she  was. 
But  now  he  understood.  Amber  Lou's  face 
and  hands  looked  perfectly  clean.  She  was 
dressed  tidily,  even  tastefully ;  and  she  was 
not  wearing  the  emblem  of  her  class — the  flat 
straw  hat.  Never  until  this  moment  had  he 
known  how  he  loathed  the  black  flat  straw 
hat. 

"  Why  !  "  He  had  to  say  it  first  of  all, 
in  a  voice  that  he  strove  to  keep  steady. 
**  You  look  quite  different.  You  look — a  lady!'* 

*'  Think  so  ?  "  It  was  the  same  low  and 
level  tone,  but  distinctly  subdued  for  the 
occasion.  "  You  didn't  mind  me  coming  like 
that,  then  ?  " 

166 


THE  BORDERLAND  157 

"Mind?"  He  put  out  his  hand.  "I 
couldn't  believe ;  I  can't  believe  it  yet. 
What  put  it  into  your  heart  to  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing  of  that,"  she  said, 
standing  with  her  fingers  clasped  in  front  of 
her.  Her  inborn  self-possession  could  never 
seem  to  waver  for  an  instant.  The  turquoise 
eyes  in  her  yellow-rose  face  looked  straight 
out  contemplatively.  "  I  didn't  expect  you 
to  see  me — I  wasn't  sure  you  could  see  any 
one  ;  but  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  say  when 
I'd  once  knocked,  with  that  woman's  gimlet 
eyes  on  me.  I  was  thinking  they'd  done  for 
you." 

She  dropped  her  head  with  a  sudden  jerk. 
For  a  moment  he  was  held  by  a  thrill  that  he 
could  not  analyse.  Those  last  seven  words 
of  hers  had  ended  in  a  dry,  defiant  but  un- 
mistakable sob  that  was  almost  a  revelation. 

"  They  haven't — oh,  no  !  "  he  breathed 
eagerly.     "  See  for  yourself." 

*'  Then  it  doesn't  matter,"  she  said,  pluck- 
ing at  her  fingers.  She  seemed  about  to  make 
one  of  her  majestically  startling  turns  for  the 
door. 

"  Oh,  but  it  does  !  I'll  only  tell  you  what 
the  doctor  says — that  it  might  have  finished 
any  other  man.     How  came  you  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  knew  all  about  it."  She  flashed  a 
quick  look  at  his  hand  lying  limp  there,  and 
away  again.     "  1  guessed  the  lot  the  moment 


158  THE   BORDERLAND 

I  heard  Ben  Fisher  had  cleared  out  of  it." 
"  Ah  !  And — and  what  of  the  other  man  ?  " 
*'  He's  gone,  too,"  she  whispered.     "  That 
was  good  enough." 

"  Gone  for  good,  you  mean  ?  " 
"  I   don't  know.     You'd  better  not    ask. 
They  wouldn't  go  far,  but  you'd  never  find 
'em.     You'd  better  let  it  drop." 

"  They  have  not," — he  sank  his  voice, — 
"  sent  you  here  to  spy  for  them — to  know 
whether  it  was  life  or  death  for  me  ?  " 
"  You  can  think  that  if  you  want  to." 
"No  I  Tell  me — ^let  me  think  you  came 
because  you  wanted  to ;  you  were  sorry. 
Look  at  me,  Lou,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  obeyed.  She  had  been  going  to  smile, 
but  she  checked  it.  The  imploring  ring  in 
his  voice — the  sight  of  him  lying  there  so 
different  and  yet  so  amazingly  unrevengeful — 
seemed  to  reach  a  depth  in  her  never  as  yet 
probed. 

**  I  did,  then,"  she  said,  almost  softly. 
"  P'raps  I'm  not  quite  such  a  savage  as  you 
thought.     Oh,  I  know  all  about  it !  " 

All  through  this  uncertain  spell  she  had 
remained  standing  on  the  same  spot.  In 
truth,  the  man  feared  to  suggest  a  chair  ;  her 
disdainful  refusal  seemed  so  inevitable.  And, 
after  the  initial  surprise,  it  was  borne  in  upon 
him  that  she  must  be  thinking  her  position 
more  than  odd. 


THE  BORDERLAND  159 

"  You're  not  shy  ?  '*  he  dared  suddenly. 
"  You  quite  understand  how  it  is  I  am  left 
alone  here  for  a  time  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  just  wondering,'*  she  ad- 
mitted. "  If  you've  been  as  bad  as  all  that " 

"  She's  worn  out.  Donna  !  Couldn't  you  see 
it  ?  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  hospital, 
but  I  had  no  say  in  the  matter — ^it  all  hap- 
pened so  suddenly.  Only  last  night.  Donna — 
only  last  night  I  struggled  through.  I  never 
thought  I  was  to  see  any  of  you  again.  .  .  . 
Don't  be  afraid.  Come  closer !  Come  and 
speak  to  me,  won't  you  ?  " 

She  took  a  step — another — as  if  drawn 
against  her  will.  She  drew  back  her  hands 
tightly  to  her  sides,  and  looked  down  at  him 
as  he  wished.  In  that  moment,  maybe,  a 
''  bash  over  the  head  "  took  on  a  new  aspect 
for  her.  She  had  her  first  glimpse  of  the  gentle 
side  of  tragedy.  Her  lips  worked  several 
times  before  she  would  sound  her  query. 

"  What  did  he  do  to  you  ?  Fisher,  was 
it?" 

The  man  smiled  faintly. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  I  am  going 
to  let  it  drop,  as  you  asked.  No  one  but  you 
and  I  is  to  know  that  it  happened.  Are 
you  sorry,  then  ?  .  .  .  I  don't  think  he  meant 
to  murder  me — no,  I  don't  think  that.  He 
was  frightened ;  he  acted  on  an  animal 
impulse.     He  got  his  hands  round  my  throat, 


i6o  THE  BORDERLAND 

and  I  couldn't  defend  myself,  and  down  I 
went." 

"  The  devil,"  she  whispered,  looking  at  the 
wall  beyond.  Her  small  throat  twitched. 
"  The  wicked  devil." 

'^  Hush  !  "  John  Laverock  reached  out  and 
gripped  her  fingers  suddenly  in  his.  "  Hush  ! 
you  have  dropped  all  that  now — from  now  !  " 

Then  the  inevitable  silence.  She  seemed 
drugged  by  the  warm,  convulsive  grip — ^by 
something  beneath  it  all  too  deep  to  be  turned 
aside  with  a  laugh.  If  the  man  seemed  so 
contented — why,  it  seemed  that  she  ought 
not  to  move  until  his  eyes  opened  again. 
More  than  once  she  had  given  her  fingers  a 
tug,  but  his  own  were  too  big  and  powerful. 

And  now  he  was  trembling  violently.  It 
ceased — he  had  clenched  his  teeth.  The 
sick  look  in  his  face  had  gone  to  his  eyes,  as 
he  unclosed  them.  She  looked  around  the 
room — ^just  as  Miss  Valjean  had  looked 
yesterday. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Can  I  do  anything  ?  "  she 
asked  abruptly.  *■  If  you  don't  mind,  I 
don't." 

He  nodded,  and  smiled  weakly  again. 
But  he  did  not  offer  to  release  her  hand. 

"  It's  a  funny  set-out,  isn't  it,  you  being 
left  hke  this  ?  "  she  said  huskily.  "  Did 
you  let  her  think  I  was  some — some  friend 
you  expected  ?  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  i6i 

And  he  nodded  again,  without  hesitation. 
Amber  Lou  inwardly  resented  it,  but  she  was 
woman  enough  to  feel  a  momentary  gratifica- 
tion, all  the  same.     She  stooped  a  little. 

"  Had  any  tea  ?  It  was  past  five  when  I 
knocked.  I  don't  mind  telling  her — I'll  have 
her  out  of  it !  " 

"  Tea  !  "  He  caught  at  the  half-forgotten 
syllable.  It  suggested  a  wonderful  fragrance 
just  then.  He  had  not  tasted  tea  for  days. 
In  fact  Mrs.  Blinco  had  not  attempted  to 
run  any  risk  of  over-feeding  her  patient. 
"  You  mean — would  you  make  me  a  cup  ?  " 

She  hesitated.  It  was  strange — ay,  and 
pregnant  with  the  irony  of  circumstance, — 
that  there  glistened  in  his  eyes  the  very 
light  for  which  another  woman  had  searched 
yesterday  in  vain. 

"  1  could  ;  but — what  about  her  ?  Hasn't 
she  been  near,  or  sent  some  one  in  to  you  yet  ? 
You  know  who  I  mean — Mr.Valjean's  sister !  " 

He  looked  at  her.  She  had  tried  to  say  it 
with  such  an  indifference. 

"  Ah,  now  I  know,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Now 
I  do  know  all.  It  was  you  who  put  the  note 
under   her   door.     You    did   that   for   me." 

"  Not  so  much  to  do,  was  it — considering  ?  " 

"  No  ;  because  you  know  all  I  would  do 
for  you  in  trouble^/'  He  turned  his 
head  on  the  pillows.  He  was  beginning  to 
feel  a  little  strange  again — there  was  a  "  lift- 


i62  THE  BORDERLAND 

ing  "  sensation  at  the  arch  of  his  head  which 
must  be  fought  against.  "  Yes,  she  came  ; 
but  perhaps  I  offended  her.  Never  mind 
that  now.  You  can  do  anything  you  please 
here — ^yes,  anything — I  need  you  badly  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  know  you're  holding  me 
as  if  I  was  gold  ?  Ah,  that's  better."  His 
hand  had  dropped  away.  "  Touching  this 
cup  of  tea,  then — how  do  you  make  it  ?  " 

"  Anyhow,"  he  muttered,  watching  her. 
"  Anyhow." 

**  Don't  be  silly."  She  had  to  laugh.  She 
was  her  cool,  inimitable  self  again  now,  and 
not  in  the  least  apprehensive  of  anything 
Mrs.  Blinco  might  have  to  say.  "  I  mean, 
there's  no  fire.  You  can't  boil  water  without 
— at  least  I  can't." 

"  I  think — I  think  she  used  an  oil-stove  in 
that  comer  for  her  breakfast.     I'm  not  sure." 

"  Ah  !  No,  she  didn't  look  as  if  she  wasted 
much  coal.  It's  alight !  and  here's  a  cup  and 
saucer.     Now  what  about  the  tea  ?  " 

"  Goodness  knows,"  he  said,  faintly.  He 
had  not  thought  of  that. 

Amber  Lou  was  on  her  knees.  He  heard 
her  laugh  to  herself — an  odd  little  laugh  that 
was  new  to  him  on  her  Hps.  He  tried  to 
raise  himself,  and  caught  just  a  glimpse  of  her 
shoes.  The  soles  were — well,  there  were  no 
soles  worth  mentioning. 

*'  It's  all  right,"  she  said  cooUy,    looking 


THE   BORDERLAND  163 

back.  "  You  keep  still ;  I  was  only  thinking. 
You  ought  to  be  married,  that's  the  long  and 
the  short  of  it.  Now  then,  I'm  going  into 
her  kitchen,  and  you  needn't  fear  I  shall 
touch  anything  of  hers." 

She  marched  out.  Now  that  she  had  spoken 
in  that  voice,  his  contentment  deepened.  It 
was  curious  that  the  stark  novelty  of  the 
situation  should  have  died  quite  out  already, 
and  that  she  seemed  to  have  stepped  into 
a  blank.  Perhaps  he  dozed  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  next  thing  he  knew  was  that  his  arm 
had  been  shaken. 

Long  and  steadfastly  up  at  her  he  looked, 
swelling  after  swelling  unchecked  in  his  throat. 
The  blind  was  drawn,  and  the  evening  shut 
out ;  Amber  Lou's  hair  shone  golden  against 
the  lamplight  behind  her. 

"  Well,  don't  you  want  it  now  I've  made 
it  ?  "  she  queried,  with  a  shaky  scorn.  **  I 
couldn't  help  being  a  while.  I've  been  out — 
there  was  no  milk  to  be  seen  in  this  house. 
I  put  the  mat  up  against  the  door.  You 
didn't  hear  that,  did  you  ?  " 

The  man  slowly  drew  himself  up,  and  groped 
out  to  take  the  cup.  Perhaps  the  light  had 
dazzled  him  for  a  moment.  For  the  first 
time  she  appeared  to  grasp  that  he  was  far 
weaker  than  he  had  seemed  at  the  outset. 
And  the  focus  of  his  eyes  seemed  "  out," 
by  the  way  in  which  he  took  the  cup. 


i64  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  Here,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  she  queried, 
bluntly  if  softly.  "  Do  you  have  a  cushion 
to  lean  against,  or  what  ?  Well,  go  on — 
there  you  are  !  Have  your  cup  of  tea,  at  any 
rate  !  " 

She  dragged  up  a  pillow  and  held  it  in 
position,  with  both  arms  stubbornly  tight 
around  him  for  support.  He  could  not  see 
her  now ;  she  was  looking  down,  wondering 
when  he  was  going  to  drink  it — or  if  his  class 
of  people  drank  tea  differently  from  others. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  he  kept  putting  the  cup  to 
his  lips  and  lowering  it  again. 

"  Drink  up  !  "  she  whispered.  "  You'll 
have  it  stone  cold.  Something  in  your  throat, 
is  there  ?  Seems  to  me  they've  let  you  job 
along  as  best  you  can,  haven't  they  ?  I 
wouldn't  say  anything  at  all  about  this  ;  I'll 
wash  the  cup  out.  I  had  to  open  a  dozen  tin 
boxes  before  I  found  a  screw  of  tea  in  a  corner. 
That  woman's  after  saving,  isn't  she  ?  I 
always  thought  you  lived  in  a  grand  house 
like  Mr.  Valjean's.    Well  ?  " 

Of  a  sudden,  with  a  series  of  little  chokes, 
the  man  let  the  cup  drop  plump  to  the 
white  coverlet.  Out  spread  the  rich  brown 
stain  in  all  directions. 

"  My  Gawd  !  "  Amber  Lou  breathed  in- 
voluntarily to  herself.     "  That's  done  it !  " 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  heard  him  say,  in  the 
silence. 


THE  BORDERLAND  165 

"  Sorry  ?  That's  not  much  use.  What'll 
she  say  about  her  dimity  bed  ?.  .  .  Hang 
her  bed,  if  you  couldn't  help  it !  You're 
shaking  all  over,  you  are.  Here,  let  me  see 
to  it.  She  couldn't  grumble  if  you'd  burst 
a  blood-vessel,  could  she  ?  No  ;  well  then, 
that's  all  right."  She  had  dried  the  mischief 
as  well  as  she  could,  and  given  the  bedclothes 
cunning  little  twists  to  hide  the  worst.  "  Now 
don't  start  worrying.  You're  not  half  as 
well,  you  know,  as  when  I  came  in.  How's 
that  ?  Can  you  wait  while  I  make  another 
cup  ?     I  don't  mind  !  " 

No,  he  did  not  want  it  now.  The  glamour 
of  tea — Mrs.  Blinco's  tea — had  departed  with 
the  first  and  only  sip. 

"  I'm  keeping  you  here,"  he  said.  She 
was  still  holding  the  pillow  around  him,  as 
he  seemed  to  prefer  that  attitude  after  the 
long  spell  of  lying  fiat. 

"  Just  now  you  wanted  me  to  stay.  Which 
is  it  to  be  ?  I  don't  mind.  I  only  Kt  the 
lamp  because  it  looked  more  cheerful.  I'd 
light  a  fire,  too,  if  I  knew  where  she  kept 
the  coals — October !  Not  that  I  came  for 
anything  of  that.  If  it's  not  rude,  couldn't 
some  one  write  to  the  Mission  people  for 
you  ?  I'll  go  and  tell  them,  if  you  like. 
It's  down  Shoreditch  way,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No — no,"  he  said,  his  head  shaking  against 
her.    "  I  want  to  let  it  all  drop.    I  don't 


i66  THE  BORDERLAND 

wish  a  breath  of  it  to  leak  out  in  Hoxton  or 
anywhere — ^you  know  that." 

"  What,  on  account  of  me  ?  "  she  breathed 
in   the   pause,    staring.     **  You   don't   think 

I "  The  burst  of  contempt  broke  off ;  he 

could  finish  it  for  himself.  In  her  mind  she 
had  suddenly  weighed  against  his  Quixotic 
silence  her  position  at  this  passing  moment. 
"  I  couldn't  live  in  a  house  like  this,"  she 
went  on,  to  keep  the  pause  from  deepening 
too  much.  "  It's  like  a  churchyard.  Doesn't 
her  husband  come  home — doesn't  any  one 
ever  come  in  or  go  out  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Peering  down  in 
her  calm  fashion,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
was  asleep.  "  This  is  all  right !  "  she  whis- 
pered to  herself.  And  yet,  if  Mrs.  Blinco 
had  entered  the  room  at  that  moment,  she 
would  not  have  moved.  The  fact  of  his 
illness,  and  that  alone,  could  have  made  her 
step  across  the  gulf  of  restraint.  In  her 
crude  way  she  told  herself  that  very  likely 
sleep  was  the  thing  he  wanted. 

The  minutes  went  by.  Her  arms  were 
beginning  to  tire  a  little.  Her  Hps  drew  in 
with  a  little  ironic  smile,  as  she  saw  that 
the  lamp  wick  was  burning  down  from  lack 
of  oil. 

Now  it  was  half  dark,  with  small  flickers 
of  lemon  light  on  the  walls,  as  the  wick 
expired. 


THE   BORDERLAND  167 

"  I  say !  "  she  said,  on  the  lowest  note 
of  her  voice,  bending  a  httle. 

He  stirred  sHghtly.  Some  inarticulate 
word  sounded  in  his  throat.  His  head  came 
round,  till  his  Hps  lay  against  the  hand  she 
had  slid  up  to  shake  his  shoulder.  She 
felt  distinctly  the  lips  part  and  close  again 
upon  her  flesh,  with  a  passive  little 
sound. 

She  could  not  move.  She  stood  stiffened, 
little  sensations  that  she  had  never  experienced 
before  following  each  other  down  her  body. 
Into  her  mind  crowded  strange  thoughts, 
making  it  expand  curiously,  but  she  put 
them  easily  from  her.  "  He  doesn't  know," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  He's  forgotten  who 
I  am,  and  all  about  it.  He  didn't  want  me 
for  that !  " 

Soon,  as  his  breathing  seemed  even,  she 
let  him  droop  back  to  his  pillows,  with  more 
soft  stealth  than  he  would  have  suspected 
in  her.  Now  was  her  moment  to  creep  out ; 
and  yet  she  did  not  Uke  the  idea.  She  was 
resenting  inwardly  the  whole  unsatisfactory 
position. 

The  lamp  was  all  but  burned  out.  She  had 
stooped  for  the  last  time,  to  draw  up  the 
coverlet  noiselessly.  And  then — then  her 
heart  took  that  scared  leap.  His  arm  was 
flung  out,  and  touched  her  face,  and  drew 
it  down. 


i68  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Donna  !  "  He  called  it  out,  as  if  he  had 
dreamed   it.     "  Donna  !     I    want   Donna  !  " 

"  You've  got  me,"  she  had  to  breathe 
back.  "  I'm  here.  Be  quiet.  What  is  it 
you  mean  ?  " 

'*  Donna !  "  he  said  again,  almost  as 
loudly.  "  Donna  !  O,  God  forgive  me  ! — 
O,  God,  tell  her !  " 

His  arm  fell  of  its  own  accord.  She  could 
draw  back,  quivering  as  after  a  blow.  But 
with  scorn  she  drove  the  ineffaceable  glimpse 
of  his  soul  out  of  her  mind.  He  did  not 
know !  She  was  intuitive  enough  to  divine 
that  he  would  have  died  sooner  than  utter 
any  such  words  consciously. 

And  that  very  knowledge  pricked  some 
dormant  protective  instincts  within  her. 
What  she  did  not  fathom  was  the  fact  that 
in  that  hour  John  Laverock's  personality 
had  entered  into  her  own  everyday  life, 
whereas  up  till  now  he  had  been  a  shadowy 
figure  quite  outside  it. 

His  hand-bell ! — it  stood  just  there. 

She  found  the  matches,  went  out,  closed 
the  door  upon  him,  and  lit  the  hall  gas. 
Going  to  the  head  of  the  stair,  she  rang  her 
bell  sharply.  It  was  almost  a  duplicate  of 
Miss  Valj  can's  action  of  the  evening  before, 
but  it  was  done  very  differently.  Then 
she  went  down  to  the  hall  door,  and  was 
discovered  standing  with  it  half  open. 


THE  BORDERLAND  169 

"  Who's  flared  that  light  ?  Who  is  it  ?  " 
came  Mrs.  Blinco's  voice  from  the  landing 
presently.  "  Oh,  it's  you  !  You're  going  ? 
I  don't  seem  to  have  slept  a  wink." 

"  Only  three  hours,"  was  the  dry  reply. 
"  I  thought  I'd  better  stay  with  him  a  bit, 
as  no  one  else  seemed  anxious.  Now  I'm 
going  for  his  doctor,  if  you'll  tell  me  the 
house." 

"  What  for  ?  "  Mrs.  Blinco  came  slowly 
down,  a  shawl  wrapped  about  her.  "  You 
look  very  pale ! — what's  the  matter  with 
him  ?  " 

"  I  was  bom  pale.  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  him  except  that  I  should  say 
he's  going  to  be  worse  before  he's  better." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  more  than  I  can  manage," 
said  Mrs.  Blinco,  with  an  access  of  asperity. 
"  He's  a  most  provoking  patient.  The  doc- 
tor ?  What  time  is  it  ?  Past  eight  ?  Oh, 
well,  then  he's  coming  at  nine.  Much  obliged 
to  you — ^good-evening  !  " 

She  was  pushing  the  door  to.  She  was 
a  Httle  staggered  to  find  it  pushed  back 
very  pronouncedly. 

"  Don't  do  that,"  Amber  Lou  said  in  a 
different  voice.  "  You  can't  play  about  with 
the  man's  life  like  that.  I  mean,  if  you  don't 
want  him  here,  say  so,  and  I'll  walk  down  to 
the  Mission  people,  sharp." 

"  Are  you — are  you  any  connexion  of  Mr. 


170  THE  BORDERLAND 

Laverock's  ? "  queried  Mrs.  Blinco,  with 
sudden  vague  suspicion.  "  My  brain  was 
a  little  fuddled  when  I  answered  your  knock, 
I  think." 

"  Moral,  don't  drink,"  was  the  low  reply. 
She  drew  herself  up.  **  If  you  want  to  know 
anything  about  me,  ask  him.  I  don't  think 
you'll  close  the  door  on  me  twice.  I  don't 
think !  " 

"  Sorry,"  she  said,  startled.  "  We  are 
all  liable  to  mistakes.  Might  you  be  coming 
again  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  I  haven't  thought  about 
it.  I'm  going  to  walk  up  and  down  here 
till  the  doctor's  been  ;  and  p'raps  you  won't 
mind  stepping  out  and  telling  me  what  he 
says." 

"  Oh,  very  good ! "  said  Mrs.  Blinco, 
dubiously.     **  I  can't  stop  talking." 

"  Disease  of  yours,  eh  ?  " 

**  Pardon  me  !  I  say,  I  can't  stop  talking — 
I  must  attend  to  him." 

"  Yes,  do  !  "  was  Amber  Lou's  parting, 
chilly  shot. 

She  walked  away.  Perhaps  never  till  to- 
night had  she  known  her  mind  to  carry  her 
along  automatically,  but  she  found  herself 
down  at  Dalston  presently,  in  the  blaze  of 
the  shops.  She  felt  in  her  pockets,  and 
found  a  few  coins. 

It  was  a  little  after  nine  when  she  came 


THE  BORDERLAND  171 

marching  calmly  back.  The  doctor's  carriage 
was  there,  its  twin  lights  shining  like  a  wolf's 
eyes  at  her  in  the  darkness.  She  waited 
a  little  way  off,  her  foot  tapping  tentatively 
on  the  pavement.  Then  she  saw  the  doctor 
emerge  with  importance,  his  sonorous  voice, 
audible  across  the  roadway,  making  a  fine 
advertisement. 

**  You're  not  surprised  ?  I'm  not — not 
in  the  least — oh,  dear  me,  no  !  In  fact,  I  fully 
looked  for  it." 

"  Liar !  "  Amber  Lou  said  to  herself, 
hardly  knowing  why,  save  that  there  was  a 
sort  of  sinking  sensation  at  her  heartstrings 
that  she  was  not  going  to  own  to. 

He  had  gone.  Mrs.  Blinco  ran  to  the 
gateway  and  peered  both  ways  a  little  sus- 
piciously. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  then,"  she  sniffed. 
It  was  the  moment  to  wipe  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  here  I  am."  Amber  Lou  walked  up. 
"  Lord  Bug,  isn't  he  ?  What  was  that  he 
said  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  He's  worse  ;  that's  all." 
She  induced  her  voice  to  falter,  to  remove 
former  impressions.  "  In  fact,  he's  a  bit 
delirious." 

"  I — I  thought  that,"  Amber  Lou  said, 
her  mouth  setting  in  a  cold  little  smile. 
"  That  all  ?  " 

"  All !     I'm  perfectly  alone  in  the  house. 


173  THE  BORDERLAND 

My  husband  hasn't  condescended  to  bring 
himself  home  yet." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  was  flashing  from  the 
girl's  Ups,  but,  curiously  again,  she  checked 
herself.  "  That's  the  worst  of  biting  off 
more  than  you  can  chew,"  she  said  shortly. 

And  Mrs.  Blinco  drew  back  from  the 
hyperbole.  "  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you 
upon  your  command  of  language,"  she  said. 
"  Mr.  Laverock  is,  at  least,  in  the  care  of  a 
lady,  if  I  may  say  so." 

There  was  an  unsatisfactory  pause,  while 
Amber  Lou's  foot  kept  up  the  ceaseless 
tattoo. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  "  came  the  abrupt 
query  then.     **  Is  he  to  lay  there  and  shift 

for  himself  ?    Because,   come  to  that " 

she  stopped. 

"  Thank  you,  there's  no  occasion  to  come 
to  anything."  Mrs.  BHnco  was  properly 
frigid  now.  '*  I  think  I  know  my  duty  as  a 
married  woman  who  has  been  a  mother — 
which  you  are  not,  by  the  look  of 
you." 

"  All  right !  "  Her  brief,  scornful  reverie 
was  ended.  *'  You  don't  mind  putting  these 
beside  him,  to  freshen  the  room  a  bit,  do 
you  ? "  And  she  held  a  bunch  of  angel- 
white  blossoms  across  the  gate. 

They  got  no  farther. 

"  Good-night   to   you  !  "     whispered   Mrs. 


THE  BORDERLAND  173 

Blinco,   with   withering  sweetness.     '*  Leave 
the  freshening  to  me.     Good-night !  " 

The  door  snapped.  Amber  Lou  was  left 
standing  on  the  pavement  with  the  first — 
and  last — gift  of  flowers  she  would  buy  for 
any  man  breathing. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

"  T    OST,  somewhere  between  sunrise   and 
JL/    sunset — sixty  golden  minutes,    each 
set  with  sixty  diamond  seconds  !     No  reward 
is  offered,  as  they  are  gone  for  ever." 

Those  quaint  words  sang  through  John 
Laverock's  brain  as  he  stepped  a  Httle  un- 
steadily from  Mrs.  Blinco's  front  door  and 
felt  the  fresh  air  of  heaven  upon  his  face 
again.  Mrs.  Blinco  was  looking  after  him, 
as  though  confidently  waiting  for  him  to 
stumble  and  fall  headlong  ;  but  as  he  seemed 
to  have  falsified  the  doctor's  prediction,  so 
he  disappointed  hers.  For  only  forty-eight 
hours  more  were  gone,  and  this,  his  first 
dash  from  the  thraldom  of  the  back  room, 
was  the  outcome  of  an  obstinate  man's 
deliberate  stiffneckedness. 

The  evening  was  divinely  still  and  clear 
for  October,  with  little  dots  of  golden  fleece 
still  hanging  in  the  carmine  of  the  west ; 
but  he  wore  an  overcoat,  buttoned  up  around 
his  throat.  And  this  it  was,  perhaps,  that 
made  more  noticeable  the  leaden  haggard- 
ness   of   his   strong   jaws,    and   the   sunken 

174 


THE  BORDERLAND  175 

appearance  of  his  eyes.  Apart  from  a  little 
natural  giddiness,  he  had  said,  he  felt  hungry 
for  a  hard  day's  work.  Conscience  had  smitten 
him,  as  he  sat  there,  and  he  had  leaped  up. 
And  conscience  was  now  a  synonym  for 
Hoxton. 

He  forgot  at  once  how  badly  he  needed 
shaving.  He  headed  straight  for  the  blue 
haze  above  which  the  dome  of  gaslight  was 
beginning  to  waver.  There  were  at  least 
two  score  of  beings  dotted  about  there  who 
had  come  to  regard  his  daily  call  and  few 
minutes'  earnest  talk  with  interest,  and  be- 
tween whom  and  himself  there  seemed  to 
have  yawned  a  gulf. 

Old  Wisbey,  the  cobbler,  would  have  fallen 
back  into  his  habit  of  shrill,  vindictive 
cursing  when  the  cats  misused  his  plants. 
Sal  Dowson  would  have  yielded  to  another 
drinking-spell  while  her  baby  lay  alone  up- 
stairs for  a  day  at  a  stretch.  Mrs.  Rowley 
would  have  forgotten  his  offer  of  weekly 
assistance  on  the  condition  that  she  had  no 
more  children.  And  Mrs.  Mucklehorn — but 
he  skipped  Mrs.  Mucklehom's  house,  and 
stumbled  on  through  the  remainder  of  the 
bewildering  category. 

It  was  a  queer  sensation — the  forcing 
himself  sharply  back  in  that  brief  walk  to 
all  the  living  realities.  He  could  have  said 
that  his  world  seemed  to  have  gone  on  with- 


176  THE  BORDERLAND 

out  him.  Either  it  was  that  his  mental 
range  had  not  been  properly  restored,  or 
that  London  streets  had  a  photographically 
clear  and  tinted  appearance  to-night.  There 
was  an  intangible,  gliding  aspect  about  the 
steady  stream  of  home-bound  figures  that 
passed  him ;  a  muffled  suggestion  in  the 
tread  of  their  feet,  the  cries  of  children  at 
play,  and  the  clang-clang  of  the  distant 
electric-cars  ;  a  sense  of  being  out  of  touch 
with  it  all. 

When — just  at  the  wide  space  where  four 
roads  strike  north,  south,  east  and  west, 
Hoxton  Street  being  one  of  them — he  heard 
a  vague  blare  of  music,  it  seemed  quite 
consonant  with  the  order  of  things  to-night. 
He  did  not  obey  the  rush  of  pedestrians  to 
form  a  line  on  the  kerb,  but  stood  still  in  the 
roadway  until  a  mounted  policeman  loomed 
close  and  edged  him  back. 

Round  the  bend  of  St.  John's  Road,  with 
a  pitiful  semblance  of  dignity  and  marching 
array,  poured  a  four-deep  line  of  men,  women 
and  children — mostly  men.  The  latter  walked 
with  sullen,  jaded  strides ;  their  women 
took  little  runs  now  and  then  to  keep  up 
with  them.  Tramp — tramp — tramp.  The 
constables  in  the  van  had  the  bored  look  of 
men  shepherding  a  lot  of  half -tame  animals 
who  must  be  humoured,  in  case  they  ever 
turned  dangerous.     A  few  indifferent  musi- 


THE   BORDERLAND  177 

dans  behind  them  strove  to  maintain  the 
martial  spirit  to  the  end  ;  and  behind  these 
came  a  big,  dark-bearded  mechanic  with 
arresting  eyes,  who  carried  a  worn  old  banner 
upon  which  was  still  legible  the  traditional 
device  :  "  Curse  your  charity  !  We  want 
work  !  " — although,  paradoxically,  men  on 
the  flanks  rattled  money-boxes. 

It  was  Black  Sam — in  his  element.  And 
then  John  Laverock  understood.  This  was 
merely  a  detached  remnant  of  a  host  of 
London's  submerged  which  had  poured  from 
all  quarters  into  Hyde  Park  to  demonstrate 
its  strength  and  its  necessity.  And  London 
had  heard,  and  could  only  give  the  same 
pacifying  answer  :  that  there  was  not  really 
enough  to  go  all  round  at  present — that  the 
"  boom "  in  trade  must  sooner  or  later 
reflect  itself  upon  the  employes  as  well  as 
upon  the  employers — and  that  Christ  Himself 
had  expressly  ordained  that  "  The  poor  ye 
have  always  with  you." 

Tramp — tramp.  They  were  going  by  now. 
The  watching  crowd  viewed  them  with  typical 
complacent  curiosity,  without  either  groan 
or  cheer,  as  beings  who  were  essentially 
part  of  the  cosmic  scheme.  Spellbound  him- 
self by  something  in  the  dispirited,  non- 
descript appearance  of  many  among  them, 
John  Laverock  computed  mechanically  that 
at  least  sixty  per  cent,  of  their  number  must 

M 


178  THE   BORDERLAND 

be  accounted  genuine  stragglers  who  could 
justly  ask  of  Leisured  Opulence  "  the  right 
to  live."     At  least ! 

"  Rough,  ain't  it  ? "  observed  a  man 
with  a  bag  of  tools  over  his  shoulder  and  a 
pipe  in  his  mouth.  *'  I  mustn't  grumble. 
I  was  in  that  lot  last  winter.  Sold  every 
stick  of  the  third  home  up.  People  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  in  work  one  week  and 
out  the  next ;  no  'bacca,  no  grub,  and  the 
kids  howHn'.  I'd  Hke  'em  all  to  have  a 
year's  turn  at  it.  They'd  find  the  money 
then  as  easily  as  they  find  it  for  a  Guildhall 
banquet.     My  oath  !  " 

"  Rubbish."  A  stout  old  gentleman  with 
an  umbrella  and  gold-rimmed  spectacles 
glared  round.  *'  You  can't  burn  the  national 
candle  at  both  ends  and  in  the  middle  too. 
You've  got  your  real  remedy." 

"  Oh !  What's  that  ?  Teach  'em  con- 
tentment in  church,  eh  ?  " 

*'  Rubbish,  There  is  a  remedy.  Only  one, 
and  a  stiff  one  ;  but  one  that  will  have  to 
come.  Over-population,  sir — indiscriminate 
over-population — ^is  our  curse,  like  the  rabbits 
in  Australia.  While  machinery  cuts  down 
every  demand  for  labour,  the  number  of 
labourers  increases.  The  law  of  supply  and 
demand,  sir,  is  the  first  consideration  of 
every  thriving  business  ;  and  it  will  have 
to  be  considered  nationally.    Do  you  realize. 


THE  BORDERLAND  179 

sir — I  don't  suppose  you  trouble  to,  by  the 
look  of  you — that  while  the  wealthy  classes, 
who  could  afford  to  train  good,  wholesome 
stock,  are  remaining  deliberately  childless, 
these  people  go  on  eating  up  the  land  with 
their  offspring,  thirty  per  cent,  of  whom  are 
physically  or  mentally  unfit,  and  twenty 
percent. of  whom  possess  or  transmit  criminal 
tendencies.  Result :  the  State  is  busy  night 
and  day  enlarging  its  workhouses,  prisons 
and  lunatic  asylums.  And  the  nation  sits 
down  and  looks  on  and  does  nothing.  Where 
do  you  think  such  a  policy  can  end,  sir  ? 
Where  do  you,  sir  ?  "  he  appealed  to  John 
Laverock,  with  growing  heat.  And  John 
Laverock  could  only  answer  with  silence. 
The  workman  coughed  sceptically. 

"  Yes,  we've  heard  all  that,  scores  of  times. 
What's  your  remedy,  boss  ?  Poison  in  their 
grub  ?  " 

"  No,  sir !  You've  got  that  already. 
Nearly  everything  you  eat  and  drink  is 
poisoned  with  adulterants — more  shame  to 
us  for  allowing  it.  No,  sir !  The  State 
has  a  vital  problem  before  it — so  vital  that 
every  successive  government  shirks  it  and 
passes  it  on  to  the  next !  Let  the  State 
inculcate — by  some  form  of  graduated  taxa- 
tion— that  a  man  shall  limit  his  family 
according  to  his  means,  the  same  as  he 
limits  his  house-room,   and  the  cut  of  his 


i8o  THE  BORDERLAND 

clothes.  And,  above  all,  let  the  State  insist 
that  every  employer  shall  pay  his  man  a 
fair  living  wage.  End  sweating — do  those 
two  things — and  you  arrest  our  social  rot, 
sir,  if  you  don't  end  it.  Charity,  sir  !  Charity 
is  a  disgraceful  compromise  in  a  nation  like 
this.  It  insults  the  willing,  and  it  breeds 
the  loafer.  It  acknowledges  the  wrong  that 
exists,  but  can  never  right  that  wrong.  You 
think  over  that,  sir,  when  you've  tackled 
all  the  other  solutions  !  " 

The  workman  passed  on  his  way  with  a 
laugh.  The  shifting  crowd  impelled  John 
Laverock  across  the  road.  The  tramp  of  the 
remnant  of  London's  skeleton  army  was 
d5dng  out  of  hearing. 

"  Smith !  " 

John  Laverock  gave  an  involuntary  shout. 
He  had  caught  a  ghmpse  of  "  Lamps  Out " 
pushing  a  way  with  both  hands  at  the  tail 
of  the  procession.  Till  that  moment  he  had 
been  forgetting  the  existence  of  "  Lamps 
Out  "  of  Haggerston.  He  ran  and  caught 
up  the  odd  figure  in  an  old  "  frock  "  coat 
three  sizes  too  large  for  it,  and  with  the  tray 
of  buttons  and  laces  on  the  point  of  capsizing. 

"  Come  back,  here — you'll  be  hurt.  What 
are  you  after  ?  Any  one  would  think  you 
could  see  !  " 

"  Lemme  go  !  Black  Sam's  goin'  to  have 
a  meetin',  p'hce  or  no  p'lice  !  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  i8i 

"  Lamps  Out "  twisted  and  wriggled,  but 
it   was   no   good.     He   gave   in   resentfully. 

"  Lost  my  pipe  now,"  he  explained,  with 
warmth.  '*  Some  one  collared  it  out  o'  my 
mouth.  I'd  ha'  clawed  his  tongue  out  if  I 
knew   who   it   was.    Dirty   bleed'n*    trick." 

*'  Come,  come !  I  won't  listen  to  that. 
We  can  easily  get  you  another,  if  you  must 
have  it.     What's  the  price  ?  " 

"  Tuppenny  cherrywood."  He  was  feeling 
over  his  tray  in  a  tremble  to  see  if  his  day's 
takings  had  been  collared  as  well.  Once 
again  it  was  a  secret  marvel  to  John  Laverock 
that  any  human  being  could  exist  from  day 
to  day  in  such  haphazard  fashion — blind ! 
"  Where've  you  been  all  this  time  ?  "  "  Lamps 
Out  "  queried.  His  direct  method  was  always 
toned  down  with  a  flavour  of  respect.  "  Ain't 
seen  you  for  months." 

"  Days,"  the  other  reminded  him.  They 
were  back  on  the  pavement  now,  and  he  was 
glad  to  put  one  hand  to  a  raiHng  to  steady  that 
giddiness.  "I've  been  queer,  Smith,  and  I 
don't  feel  as  I  ought  to  yet." 

**  Oh  ?  Thought  you  sounded  a  bit  harf 
an'  harf,  like.  Didn't  tell  you,  did  I  ?  The 
old  man's  done  it  this  time — not  harf  done 
it.  They've  bunged  him  in  the  infirmary, 
and  he  ain't  comin'  out  very  quick.  Why, 
he  got  chucked  out  of  a  pub.  for  dealin'  the 
old  woman  one  out.    She'd  gone  there  to  find 


i82  THE  BORDERLAND 

him  and  get  a  shillin*  off  him,  and  he  ups  with 
his  fist  instead.  Well,  you  never  don't  know 
what  happened,  do  yer  ?  Anyway,  a  bloomin' 
bus  couldn't  pull  up  in  time,  and  there  you 
are.  All  right,  ain't  it  ?  All  right  for  the 
old  woman,  I  mean.  Don't  make  much  odds 
to  me  whether  he  gets  over  it  or  not.  Don't 
cost  me  nothin'  to  Hve.  Ain't  got  that 
tuppence  handy,  have  yer  ?  " 

"  Look  here,"  said  John  Laverock.  He 
had  been  tr5dng  to  think.  "  Give  her  this 
shiUing  now — I  trust  you,  mind — and  meet 
me  just  here  to-morrow  night  about  this  time, 
and  I'll  see  what  can  be  done.  The  worst  of 
it  is,  the  Mission  Fund  drains  out  much  faster 
than  it — well,  never  mind,  I'll  come  down  and 
see  her  as  soon  as  I  can.  My  heart's  with  her, 
poor  soul !     Don't  forget." 

"  Not  me.  Er — you  said  some  think  about 
a  tuppenny '* 

"  Oh,  ah — that  precious  pipe  !  Here  you 
are — good-night.  Smith  !  " 

He  turned  and  struck  down  Hoxton  Street. 
It  was  Monday  night — he  had  been  forgetting 
that,  too.  Hoxton,  as  far  as  business  went, 
resembled  a  theatre  after  the  audience  had 
gone.  The  stalls  and  barrows  stood  deserted 
by  the  kerb  ;  more  than  half  the  shops  had  a 
"  gone  away  "  appearance.  Here  and  there 
a  naphtha  lamp  flared  :  a  negro  with  gleaming 
teeth  related  how  he  could  make  all  other 


THE  BORDERLAND  183 

teeth  gleam  as  nicely  with  his  preparation, 
or  a  pill-vendor  went  through  the  Ust 
of  human  diseases  and  showed  how  his 
pills  were  specially  constructed  to  deal  with 
the  whole  list  in  bulk.  But  real  trade  was 
suspended.  Hoxton  had  not  yet  quite  ex- 
hausted Saturday's  wages ;  an  air  of  semi- 
stagnation  was  over  all.  And  yet — Hoxton 
was  still  Hoxton. 

An  odour  of  fried  fish  and  stale  greenstuff 
lurked  in  the  air.  At  the  corners  of  those 
abysmal  narrow  streets  on  the  right,  knots 
of  women  stood  who  looked  as  if  they  had 
crept  out  of  noisome  cellars  for  a  furtive 
look  at  the  autumn  night.  Other  women,  a 
degree  more  tidy  and  normal,  leaned  from 
windows  and  shouted  subtle  jokes  to  acquaint- 
ances below.  Barefooted  children  darted  and 
scampered  in  all  directions,  with  a  general 
disregard  for  decency  and  a  vocabulary  of 
obscenities  to  congeal  the  blood  of  any  one 
who  knew  not  his  slum-land  and  the  slumber- 
ing conscience  of  London.  From  each  public- 
house  came  the  familiar  Babel  of  shouting 
and  singing,  while  in  the  glare  outside  troops 
of  girls,  arm-in-arm,  improved  upon  the 
can-can  and  laughed  loudly  over  vile  jests 
that  made  one  wonder  for  their  womanhood. 
Hoxton,  on  the  surface,  was  fully  contented 
to  toil  and  pleasure  in  its  own  way.  But 
below  the  surface — down  in  those  coffin-like 


i84  THE  BORDERLAND 

dark  side-streets — there  the  drunkards  and 
the  diseased  slept,  and  there  the  innocent 
unfit  were  conceived  and  born  in  the  image 
of  God. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  sky  was  jet  black  everywhere  now, 
with  a  powder  of  stars.  John  Lave- 
rock had  paid  his  few  brief  calls  in  Hoxton 
Street  itself,  with  varying  success  or  dis- 
appointment ;  and  now  he  turned  and 
wheeled  into  Phillimore  Street,  which,  on  a 
dry  night,  with  its  crowded  doorsteps  and 
underclothing  hung  to  dry  from  windows, 
roughly  resembled  a  row  in  a  Chinese  fair. 

The  muffled  suggestion  was  over  all  partly 
still,  and  at  times  he  had  experienced  a 
warning  wave  of  faintness  ;  but  he  attributed 
both  to  his  enforced  spell  of  inactivity. 

He  leaned  over  the  railings  at  No.  36, 
to  find  old  Wisbey's  area  shutters  closed — 
it  was  Monday,  of  course.  SalDowson  lived 
two  doors  higher  up.  She  had  a  baby,  but 
no  husband.  She  could  earn  one-and-six- 
pence  a  day  at  plain  needlework  ;  but  as  she 
invariably  spent  two-and-sixpence  the  next 
day,  and  pawned  her  customers'  materials 
to  make  good  the  deficiency,  the  outlook  for 
her  and  her  baby  was  not  encouraging. 

"  Sheer  waste  of  time,"  the  fatherly  "point" 

166 


i86  THE  BORDERLAND 

constable,  with  a  fund  of  local  statistics,  had 
remarked  once  to  him.  ''  Out  of  thirty* 
three  '  dead  drunks  '  up  at  court  last  Monday 
twenty-one  were  her  sort.  Here's  last  year's 
charge-street  for  the  borough  :  817  ordinary 
*  drunks,'  and  1,230  drunk  and  disorderly  or 
drunk  while  in  charge  of  children.  All 
women  !  Clap  on  another  *  nought '  for  the 
number  never  charged  or  noticed — and  there 
you  are.  It's  in  their  blood — in  their  bones. 
When  a  day  in  the  cells  stops  drunkenness, 
one  dose  of  castor-oil  will  cure  consumption." 

However,  he  went  hopefully  up  the  steps 
once  again. 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  yelled  a  woman  from  the 
obscure  lower  regions.  "  Oh  !  Well,  tell  him 
she's  sleepin'  it  off,  and  can't  see  no  one. 
And  if  she  don't  wake  up  again  she  won't 
be  missed.  That's  me.  And  I  don't  care  if 
she  hears." 

"  Who  has  the  Httle  one  ? "  he  asked 
anxiously.  It  was  what  he  had  half  feared 
— on  Monday. 

"  Who  ?  Who  does  he  suppose  ?  If  I 
hadn't  taken  it  from  her,  it  'ud  ha'  fell  in  the 
copper  sure  as  fate,  at  twelve  o'clock  this 
blessed  day.  It  was  on  the  edge.  And  best 
out  of  it,  I  say.     Has  he  gone  ?  " 

He  was  going.  It  struck  him  that,  from 
the  raucous  tone  of  the  woman  downstairs, 
she  too  had  slept  something  off ;  and  it  could 


THE  BORDERLAND  187 

all  be  heard  by  the  interested  lodgers  on 
either  side. 

Mrs.  Mucklehorn's  was  directly  opposite. 
He  had  been  going  to  pass.  On  an  impulse, 
that  seemed  weak  and  yet  was  justifiable,  he 
changed  his  mind  and  went  quietly  across. 
If  he  hesitated  and  feared,  it  would  seem  that 
he  feared  the  breath  of  blackmail. 

Dense  columns  of  steam  arose  from  the 
lower  door  and  windows.  Mrs.  Mucklehorn, 
while  denying  strenuously  that  she  "  took  in  " 
washing,  had  begun  the  week  in  no  uncertain 
fashion.  Going  down  the  few  steps,  he  could 
see  her  waddling  to  and  fro  in  the  distant 
candlelight,  with  a  huge  hillock  of  soap- foam 
before  her  ;  but  no  response  came  to  his  call 
or  knock.  Finally  he  went  up  the  front 
steps  and  mounted  the  stair.  And  it  seemed 
an  age  since  he  had  felt  that  balustrade  shake 
under  his  grasp  before. 

All  was  dark.  Right  to  the  top  he  felt  his 
way,  calling  now  and  then,  not  sure  at  any 
moment  whether  a  door  might  open  and  some 
one  stare  out  at  him.  He  knocked  softly — 
three  times.  "  Donna  !  "  he  said.  "  It  is  I, 
Mr.  Laverock.     Are  you  at  home  ?  " 

No  answer.  He  tried  one  more  tap,  and 
then  it  struck  him  that  the  door  had  yielded 
in  a  little.  It  was  going  back.  The  star- 
light from  the  window  opposite  showed  him 
bare  boards.     Her  room  was  vacant. 


i88  THE  BORDERLAND 

The  sensation  that  crawled  over  him  was 
one  not  easily  explained  or  forgotten.  No- 
thing— only  an  empty  room ! — and  yet 
haunted  by  the  invisible  presence  of  the 
woman  who  had  sat  there,  and  thought  there, 
and  slept  there,  and  had  her  being  there.  He 
felt  inexpressibly  chilled,  and  he  knew  now 
of  a  sudden,  without  wishing  to  know,  what 
it  was  that  had  buoyed  him  up  with  expect- 
ancy until  this  moment. 

He  turned  away  from  it  as  from  an  un- 
worthy thought  that  may  dart  through  the 
cleanest  mind  taken  unawares.  He  did  re- 
press a  shudder  as  he  reached  the  last  stair, 
but  that  was  because  of  the  dark  dreariness 
of  the  house  itself.  Down  through  the  steam 
he  went  again,  and  this  time  Mrs.  Mucklehorn 
saw  him.     Quite  calmly  he  called  a  question. 

"  Gone  !  "  shouted  Mrs.  Mucklehorn,  her 
copper-stick  suspended.  "  Went  last  Sat'day 
night — paid  up  her  one-and-six  and  took  her 
things  off  in  a  barrer.  It's  along  o'  Cobra,  if 
you  ask  me." 

"  Along  of  Cobra  ?  "  he  repeated.  He  mis- 
took her  meaning.  He  knew  that  a  shaft  of 
dull  pain  had  gone  through  him.  ''  Are  you 
sure  ?  " 

"  Sure  ?  No,  bless  me,  you  can't  be  sure 
of  anything  nowadays.  Harf  a  minnit, 
sir  !  "  She  made  a  mighty  plunge  or  two  of 
the  stick  into  seething  cauldrons,  as  it  looked 


THE   BORDERLAND  189 

to  him ;  thrust  aside  a  child  who  seemed 
preparing  for  a  perfunctory  bath ;  and 
waddled  placidly  forward.  Remembering 
the  fljdng  soapsuds,  he  stepped  back.  "  Well, 
and  how  are  you,  sir  ?  Sorry  to  hear  you 
was  on  your  back.  Did  you  want  her  ? 
Well,  I  never  asked  where  she  was  goin', 
and  I  dunno  any  one  who  did.  She  never 
opened  her  mouth  unless  she  chose.  She 
went  off  huffy  and  quiet,  about  nine,  Sat'day 
night.  She  wouldn't  be  gone  far — unless, 
as  I  say,  it's  along  o*  that  Cobra.  He  was 
here  twice  late  the  same  night,  askin'  after 
her,  and  he  wasn't  harf  in  a  fever  about  some- 
thin'.  He  was  no  good  to  her — I  know  that 
much.  I  never  hke  them  streak  o'  lightnin' 
sort  o'  chaps." 

"  You  think  she  wouldn't  have  gone  f ar  ?  " 
was  all  he  could  ask,   standing  very  still. 

"  Bless  you,  no.  Once  here,  always  here. 
Look  at  me  :  I've  moved  up  an'  down  the 
same  street  for  fifty-three  years — had  this 
house  twice  over.  Mucklehorn  ?  Well,  he's 
middlin'.  He'd  be  all  right  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  sherbet  and  his  rheumaticky  pains.  Still, 
they  can't  say  of  him  what  they  can  of  that 
Ben  Fisher — could  get  his  livin'  anywhere 
where  there  ain't  no  police.  That's  some- 
thin'." 

"  How — ^how  is  Mrs.  Fisher  going  on  ?  "  he 
asked,  with  a  twinge  of  his  nerves.     He  had 


190  THE  BORDERLAND 

been  feeling  his  way  to  that  point.     And  she 
shrugged  her  deep  shoulders. 

"  Goodness  knows.  It  don't  do  to  ask. 
You've  got  to  keep  your  eyes  skinned  and 
your  mouth  shut  nowadays.  Her  man  ain't 
been  seen  by  mortal  eyes  for  nigh  a  week, 
I'm  told.  Yes,  keeps  lovely  weather,  Mr. 
Laverock,  for  them  that's  out  in  it  with  a  full 
beUy.  There's  my  copper  over  again.  I'll 
tear  that  Frankie's  ear  off.  I  told  him  to 
hop  out  o'  the  bath  and  see  after  it." 

In  part  relieved,  and  yet  with  the  same 
sense  of  a  sick,  growing  void  within  him,  he 
went  by  Mrs.  Fisher's  house  and  drew  up  at 
the  busy  Kingsland  Road  corner.  Some  one, 
indeed,  had  sent  after  him  a  galling,  if  furtive, 
echo  of  that  haunting  "  Amber  Lou-ou-ou  !  " 
but  he  did  not  even  turn  his  head.  It  was 
but  a  contemptible  reminder  of  the  Cobra's 
financial  inspiration,  and  could  be  allowed  to 
fizzle  out  as  the  Cobra's  coup  had  done. 

He  would  make  his  way  home.  His 
effort  had  abruptly  exhausted  itself.  There 
were  singing  noises  in  the  air  everywhere,  and 
— and  a  desire  to  be  quite  alone,  down  on  his 
knees,  and  realize  that  he  was  being  impelled 
quite  consciously  into  the  lethal  chamber  of 
passion — a  longing  for  two  warm  arms  to 
enfold  him  and  hold  him.  He  set  off  back 
with  long  strides,  his  hands  clenched  against 
himself. 


THE  BORDERLAND  191 

He  would  never  know  why,  but,  passing  the 
public-house  by  the  canal  bridge,  he  swerved 
aside,  swung  in  the  middle  door,  stared  round 
— and  found  himself  looking  into  the  eyes 
of  the  very  man.     Ben  Fisher ! 

For  once  they  were  wide  open,  and  re- 
mained so.  Standing  by  a  barrel  behind  the 
door,  he  had  a  full  pot  of  beer  halfway  to  his 
mouth.  But  that  it  was  pewter  it  would 
have  cracked,  as  his  arm  dropped  down  to  the 
barrel  and  moved  as  in  a  palsy  among  the 
spilled  liquor.  There  were  other  drinkers  in 
the  bar,  but  they  simply  looked ;  they,  too, 
appeared  to  see  something  of  the  risen  dead 
in  the  drawn  white  face  and  tall  figure  of  the 
man  who  had  stepped  silently  in.  Into  stone, 
or  ice,  Ben's  body  seemed  to  be  congealing 
under  that  stare. 

"So  we  are  still  on  the  same  earth  to- 
gether ?  "  John  Laverock  said,  with  a  bitter 
little  laugh.  *'  And  the  old  haunt  drew  you 
as   strongly   as   this  ?  .  .  .  Step  out   here." 

Ben  moved  forward  and  after  him  like  a 
clockwork  figure.  A  few  paces  down  quiet 
Canal  Street  he  was  allowed  to  pause.  He 
could  just  move  his  palms  over  each  other,  as 
if  preparing  for  the  great  muscular  swing  that 
would  end  in  his  heavy  face.  He  was  going 
to  take  it — glad  to  take  it — without  a  word 
or  a  whine. 

To  his  eternal  surprise  there  came  nothing 


192  THE  BORDERLAND 

but  the  quiet  voice  of  a  man  who  trembled 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

**  I  am  not  going  to  expose  you.  I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  you  on  that  score  now.  .  .  . 
I  simply  wish  you  to  tell  me  what  has  become 
of  her.  Yes,  Lou  Bohannan.  I  feel  that 
you  can,  and  will." 

"  That's  a  bet."  Ben  Fisher  felt  at  his 
intact  throat,  and  whispered  hoarsely.  He 
had  been  staring  at  the  blackly-flowing  canal 
in  torpid  amazement,  but  it  told  him  nothing. 

"  That's  a  bet.     You  go "  he  cleared  his 

voice  and  wheeled  round  to  point  quite  con- 
vincingly— "  go  down  the  road,  turn  up 
Holly  Street,  take  the  third  on  your  left,  and 
then — . ' '  He  mentioned  an  obscure  thorough- 
fare, and  mentioned  something  concerning 
the  thoroughfare.  "  She's  two  doors  from 
the  Dalston  Lane  end  of  it.  And  s'help 
me " 

"That will  do.    When  did  she  go  there  ?  " 

"  Sat'day  night.  And  strike  me  purple 
blind  if " 

"  No,  no  !  I'm  going  to  believe  you,  strange 
as  it  seems.     When  did  you  find  it  out  ?  " 

"  Late  las'  night.  Cobra  had  his  '  narks  ' 
out,  and  one  of  'em  spotted  her."  Husky 
still,  he  fumbled  at  his  belt,  prepared  yet  for 
possible  flight.  **  Don't  b'lieve  me  ?  You 
can  go  down  there  now,  and  you'll  find 
him " 


THE   BORDERLAND  193 

"  Find  him  ?  " 

"  When  you've  found  him,  you're  as  nigh 
her  as  makes  no  odds." 

John  Laverock  took  two  quick  steps.  He 
swung  round  again.  His  own  voice  was  a 
little  changed,  but  nothing  could  change  the 
fact  that  his  hand  was  straight  out. 

"  Take  it,  Fisher,"  he  was  saying.  "  I 
can  forgive,  if  I  cannot  forget.  I  mean  it. 
Thank  you  !  The  number  of  my  enemies 
in  this  world  is  down  to — to  just  two  now ; 
that  man  and  myself.     Good-night  to  you  !  " 

And  with  those  cryptic  words  he  walked 
away,  leaving  behind  a  man  so  flabby  and 
unstrung  that  he  failed  to  go  back  and  drink 
his  beer. 


N 


CHAPTER    XV  : 

DOWN  the  broadest  reach  of  Kingsland 
Road,  and  into  Holly  Street  on  the 
right,  a  man  went  striding  with  fire  in  his 
veins  and  a  haze  before  his  eyes.  There 
were  no  more  pauses  for  self -analysis.  He 
was  justified  now.  The  great  palliating 
motive  had  been  put  into  his  hands.  It  was 
not  passion  that  drew  him  now,  but  deadly 
fear  for  the  soul  and  body  of  the  woman — 
Lou  Bohannan. 

He  had  found  the  obscure  street.  There 
was  nothing  outwardly  suggestive  in  it  to 
feed  his  fever,  as  he  walked  down  one  pave- 
ment and  returned  by  the  other.  He  had 
seen  merely  a  double  line  of  small  drab  houses 
in  a  still,  dingy  thoroughfare  along  which 
came  every  few  seconds  the  scream  of  a  rail- 
way vent- valve.  He  had  looked  keenly  at 
the  house,  without  pausing.  He  had  mentally 
decided  which  room  was  likely  to  be  hers. 
But  for  some  reason  he  would  not  knock 
there — not  yet.  He  had  drawn  the  hat  over 
his  eyes  and  the  coat  collar  up  around  his 
chin.     He  had  spoken  quietly  to  a  policeman 

194 


THE  BORDERLAND  195 

who  passed.  After  that,  whenever  a  man 
went  by,  he  turned  and  looked  after  him  with 
great  hollow  eyes,  and  only  drew  breath  when 
the  man  passed  out  of  sight.  He  was  slowly 
but  surely  passing  into  the  mood  which  makes 
a  man  dare  evil  that  good  may  come  of  it. 

More  than  an  hour  would  have  passed. 
The  door  of  the  house  had  not  seemed  to  open 
once,  as  far  as  he  could  judge  from  the  corner 
where  he  hovered.  Sometimes  he  tried  to 
laugh  and  walk  away  ;  at  others  he  drew  up 
his  stiffened  arms  in  conviction  as  real  as 
though  the  debasement  of  her  body  were  the 
corresponding  agony  of  his  own. 

And  then  of  a  sudden  all  seemed  to  merge 
into  desperate  determination  that  obliterated 
everything  else.  Crossing  the  road  in  a  few 
silent  leaps,  he  had  intercepted  her,  as  she 
came  moving  mechanically  round  the  comer 
and  entered  the  quiet,  dingy  zone. 

"  Oh,  it's  you  !  " — with  the  ghost  of  her 
ironic   httle   laugh. 

"  Yes."  He  looked  into  the  fathomless 
eyes  upturned.  They  should  quail  before 
him  to-night.  "  Yes,  it  is  I.  I  have  found 
you  out — I  may  be  in  time  to  save  you  from 
that  last  step  of  all." 

She  put  back  his  hands,  and  looked  both 
ways  meditatively.  Then  her  breath  quick- 
ened a  little,  as  she  began  to  understand. 

"  I  say,  I  think  you'd  better  go — better 


196  THE   BORDERLAND 

say  good-bye,  and  drop  me.  You've  been 
asking  questions,  haven't  you  ?  Yes,  I 
thought  so.  Well  then,  you  ought  to  see  I'm 
not  worth  your  worrying  over.  I  don't  know 
— why — you — io,"  she  ended,  looking  straight 
up,  a  challenging  pause  between  each  word. 

"  Never  mind  anything  of  that."  The  man 
was  not  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  keep 
back  a  choke.  "  Enough  that  I  say  you  are 
not  going  back  to  that  house." 

There  was  a  silence.  For  a  moment  all 
the  world  was  shut  out.  She  looked  down  at 
her  twisted  fingers.  She  looked  up  again, 
and  drew  in  a  breath  as  of  semi-stupefaction. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  ...  Do  you  mean  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  said  it.  God  shall  judge  me,  for 
right  or  wrong.  I  never  meant  anything 
more,  happen  what  must." 

'*  What  do  you  think  could  happen  ?  "  she 
whispered,  still  too  impressed  to  laugh  or 
move. 

**  I  have  not  looked  beyond  the  moment 
when  I  should  face  you  here  and  turn  you 
back." 

"  That's  nonsense,"  she  said.  He  had 
thought  for  an  instant  that  she — Amber  Lou 
— was  about  to  clap  a  hand  to  her  eyes  and 
give  a  wild  sob.  **  Whatever  you  think,  or 
whatever  you  say " 

"Is  it  too  late  ?  "  He  grasped  her  arm 
almost  roughly. 


THE  BORDERLAND  197 

She  would  not  answer,  save  by  a  little  curl 
of  her  lip. 

"  Whatever  you  say,"  she  went  on  pres- 
ently, "I'm  paying  for  my  room ;  and  you 
can't  keep  me  out  of  it." 

"  How  much  have  you  paid  ?  "  His  ques- 
tion came  at  once,  stern  but  tender,  full  of 
the  same  resolute  finality  that  amazed  himself 
as  much  as  her. 

Again  she  was  silent. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?  How  much  ?  "  he  re- 
peated. "  It  makes  no  difference  whether 
you  Ue  to  me  or  not.  You  can  put  it  out  of 
your  mind  for  the  time  being  that  I  am  a 
man  at  aU.     I  simply  ask  :    How  much  ?  " 

"  Nothing — as  yet,"  she  had  to  say,  low 
and  defiantly.  "  I've  not — I've  not  decided 
to  stop.  ...  I  wish  you'd  go  1  " 

"  One  moment !  "  He  kept  his  firm  grip 
on  her  arm.  "  All  life  is  before  you,  Lou — 
Donna !  I  should  be  less  than  a  man  if  I 
allowed  one  night  to  pass*  Answer  me  truly, 
and  without  any  fear.  Will  you  take  me, 
knowing  me  for  what  I  am,  into  that  house, 
and  let  me  sit  and  talk  to  you  as  I  would  talk 
to  any  pure  woman  ?  " 

"No."  It  came  in  a  sort  of  hard  little 
moan.  "  No  !  Let  me  go — you're  hurting 
me  !  You're  trying  to  make  me  worse — 
giving  me  all  these  things  to  think  of !  You 
can  see  it  for  yourself — I  got  away  from  him 


igS  THE  BORDERLAND 

and  from  you  too — I  don't  want  anything 
more  to  do  with  you.    There  !  " 

"  Oh,  Lou !  "  he  whispered.  And  he  let 
her  hand  drop  back,  and  leaned  against  the 
wooden  door  of  a  closed  yard  at  his  side  in 
sheer  weakness  of  mind  and  body. 

There  was  a  sudden  scamper  of  light  feet 
on  the  pavement  behind.  He  did  not  seem 
to  hear ;  it  was  Amber  Lou's  half-stifled 
scream  that  made  him  turn.  Some  shape 
sped  level  and  half  paused.  He  had  just  a 
flash-glimpse  of  Cobra  King's  bared  teeth 
and  gleaming  eyes.  Something  crashed  into 
the  woodwork  within  an  inch  of  his  head.  The 
self-same  twist  of  Cobra's  arm,  it  seemed, 
had  dealt  a  vicious  blow  at  Amber  Lou's 
breast.  Before  her  moan  had  died — almost 
before  the  jagged  lump  of  flint  had  ceased  to 
roll  back — the  light  rush  of  feet  was  dying 
away. 

*'  Donna  !  Donna  !  What  is  it  ?  Where 
has  he  hurt  you  ?  "  He  seemed  to  come  from 
a  brief  dream.  He  was  panting  it  brokenly, 
as  he  put  both  arms  around  the  small  figure. 
**  Oh,  come  away — come  away  from  this 
hell's  threshold  !  Come  with  me  —  any- 
where !" 

She  stood  her  ground.  Crouched  low 
against  the  wall,  she  was  weeping  with  a 
terrible  softness  to  herself.  The  man  felt 
himself  on  the  verge  of  a  storm  of  sobs,  too. 


THE  BORDERLAND  199 

"  Don't — don't,  Lou  !  You  break  my 
heart !  You  make  me  forget  ....  Dear  one  ! 
It  was  here  he  struck  you — here  !  .  .  .  O, 
God,  tell  me  what  to  do  !  " 

In  the  pause  her  crying  ceased.  Her 
voice  came  dully  up  to  him. 

"  Go  home,  please.  You  mustn't  be  seen 
— ^here — like  this.  Let  me  drift — drift  to 
the  devil  that  wants  me  and  drove  me. 
There's  nothing  else — nothing  else." 

The  man  looked  down  at  her.  He  could 
not  speak.  His  own  faculties  seemed  numbed. 
One  arm  was  stiU  supporting  her.  He  drew 
out  his  handkerchief,  and  dried  her  face, 
smoothed  back  the  amber  hair — smoothed  it 
unthinkingly  back  from  the  ears  over  which 
he  had  not  cared  to  see  it  looped.  Pausing 
in  the  movement,  he  saw  her  lips  quivering 
passively,  like  those  of  one  who  cared  not 
what  happened.  With  a  little  answering  cry, 
he  put  his  own  to  them,  stilled  them,  and 
dried  the  dampness  on  her  cheek. 

She  did  not  seem  to  know ;  or  the  power 
to  resist  was  quite  lacking.  Her  eyes,  filmed 
and  blurred  now,  looked  desolately  into  the 
night  beyond  him.  He  took  her  hand,  to 
feel  once  again  how  fragile  it  was.  He  took 
in  every  detail  of  the  frail  figure  ;  and  the 
heart  within  his  own  strong  frame  hungered 
and  hungered  the  more  to  take  her  away — 
to  keep  her  away  from  all  the  swinish  leers 


200  THE  BORDERLAND 

and  poisonous   influences — ^to   see   the   true 
womanhood  shining  in  her  defiant  eyes. 

He  did  not  stay  to  think.  Sane  thought 
seemed  so  half-hearted — so  inconceivable 
when  so  much  was  at  stake.  A  horror  of  the 
still,  dingy  street  had  taken  him.  Without 
another  word,  he  drew  her  arm  tightly  within 
his,  and  was  moving  back  along  it — past  the 
house — and  on. 

"  You'll  be  sorry,"  she  gasped  faintly. 
She  had  fought  to  get  free,  but  his  strength 
was  ten  times  that  of  hers  now.  "  You'll 
be  sorry.  You  don't  know  what  I  am — or 
what  I  Ve  been." 

**  You  are  not  that  now,"  he  said  brokenly. 
He  half  swung  her  round  to  face  him.  "  You 
are  still — still  the  woman  you  were  when  you 
came  to  me  in  my  hour  of  weakness  ?  Swear 
that  to  me  !  Oh,  answer  me,  while  I  can  ask 
it !  There  is  only — only  that  one  week  in 
your  life — that  you  told  me  of  !    Answer  !  " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  white  scorn  in  her 
face,  her  teeth  clenched. 

"  I  can,"  she  said  slowly.  "  You  kissed 
me.  You  kissed  me,  and  you  need  not  be 
ashamed  to  remember  it." 

No  more.  He  had  put  his  hand  over  her 
lips,  and  drawn  her  on.  He  saw  dimly  now 
just  where  the  path  was  leading  him,  but 
he  had  entered  upon  it  for  the  woman's  sake, 
and  would  not  turn  back  if  all  London  tried  to 


THE   BORDERLAND  201 

bar  his  way.  If  he  had  to  put  the  world  behind 
him,  the  world  must  go.  If  she  sank  she  sank 
alone.  With  his  arm  about  her  both  might 
rise. 

Very  silent  she  was  now.  She  was  mastered 
by  a  man.  He  had  but  a  light  touch  upon 
her  arm  as  they  came  out  from  Holly  Street 
into  Kingsland  Road.  True,  she  looked  both 
ways  with  a  remnant  of  stubborn  hesitation  ; 
but  the  shops  were  long  since  shut,  and  the 
pavements  nearly  deserted.  The  night  closed 
around  them  again  as  they  passed  down  the 
street  directly  opposite.  She  could  summon 
her  voice  ;  her  face  was  partly  hidden  from 
him. 

**  You'll  be  sorry,"  she  repeated.  "  You 
haven't  thought." 

"  I  have  kept  my  word.  Where  are 
we  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  make  me  think  now ! — let 
me  think  for  both  of  us  !  What  have  I 
done  ?  " 

'*  What — what  you  can  undo  without  going 
another  yard." 

"  Ah !  "  He  smiled  past  her,  as  she  came 
to  a  stop.  "  Don't  think  that ;  you  little 
know  me  yet.  It  might  have  been  months 
— years — before  I  brought  myself  to  such  a 
step  ;  but  to-night  I  was  driven,  and  you 
shan't  find  me  a  coward  at  a  crisis.  Yes,  it 
is  a  crisis  ;  and  you  must  let  me  meet  it 
in  my  own  way.     If  you  trust  me  for  the 


202  THE  BORDERLAND 

time,  I'll  answer  to  God  for  the  rest.  Do 
you,  Lou,  or  not  ?  " 

"  If  I  must,  I  must,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
growing  calm. 

*'  No,  no,  that  does  not  answer  me.  Speak 
from  your  heart,  as  I  speak  from  mine.  Do 
you  trust  my  motives  ? — my  reason  for  bring- 
ing you  away  from — that." 

"  YouVe  made  me,"  it  came  at  last.  "  No 
woman  could  stand  against  you."  She 
looked  away.  "  Do  what  you  think  best," 
she  whispered.  **  I  won't  say  another 
word." 

He  drew  her  hand  between  his,  and  found 
it  cold,  and  chafed  it  gently,  thinking  hard 
the  while. 

"  Yes,  you  may  talk  now,"  he  said.  "  We 
will  talk  together.  We  can  be  as  calm  now 
as  two  people  who  have  come  along  a  precipice 
safely.  What  is  there  of  yours  left  in  that 
house  ?  " 

"  A— a  box  ?  " 

"  Only  one  ?    Unpacked  ?  " 

"  No  ;  only  uncorded.  That  and  a  small 
one." 

"  Then  to-morrow  I  will  fetch  them  from 
the  place  myself.  Yes,  I  shall  do  that." 
She  had  given  a  tremor.  *'  And  now  that 
is  settled,  and  for  ever  forgotten.  And  now, 
what  of  to-night  ?  " 

She  had  no  answer — attempted  none.    She 


THE  BORDERLAND  203 

was  completely  abandoned  to  his  mastery, 
with  a  strange  vista  ahead  of  her  along  which 
she  would  not  try  to  look, 

"If,"  he  said,  "  I  got  you  a  room  some- 
where close  here — as  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
— I  should  have  to  stand  outside  it  the  night 
long.  No,  no,  not  that  I  think  you  would 
mean  to  deceive  me — escape  from  me.  But 
there  is  all  the  past  to  pull  you  back ;  and 
only  this  one  passing  hour  to  let  you  realize 
what  is  real  and  earnest,  and  how  different 
life  may  seem  if  there  is  always  someone  close 
at  hand  to  help  you.     And  so " 

"  Trust  me  once,"  she  said.  "  I  can  go 
anywhere — you  can't.  Trust  me  by  myself 
to-night ;    and  then " 

"  I  couldn't,  Lou — I  couldn't.  I  seem  to 
know  so  well  what  would  happen.  You 
would  tell  yourself  you  were  a  stumbling- 
block  in  my  path ;  you  would  be  gone  by 
morning.  I  should  never  know  where  and 
how  your  life  had  ended." 

"  Do  you  want  to  ?  "  she  asked,  with  sud- 
den huskiness.  "  Do  you  want  to  know,  as 
much  as  all  that  ?  " 

"  I  kissed  you,"  John  Laverock  replied, 
looking  away,  his  chafing  hand  becoming 
still.  "  I  am  going  to  be  quite  honest  with 
myself.  I  kissed  you  ;  and  you  knew  it. 
Until  that  moment,  I  had  never  wished  to 
kiss  a  woman  in  that  way.     I  cannot  explain  ; 


204  THE  BORDERLAND 

I  cannot  understand  ;  I  can  only  tell  you  the 
truth." 

And  through  her  upturned,  amazed  eyes 
gradually  shone  the  glory  of  a  wonder  and 
belief — the  first  faintly  vague  dawn  of  awaken- 
ing pride  in  the  womanhood  that  she  had  but 
just  reached.  It  might  fade  ;  the  shutter  of 
ironic  incredulity  might  intervene  again ; 
but  it  had  shone  there  for  a  moment. 

"  It  is  past  eleven,  dear,"  he  said  quietly. 
He  had  stood,  his  hands  gripping  hers  pre- 
ciously, till  he  suddenly  remembered  he  had 
a  watch.  *'  I  am  afraid  I  have  brought  you 
into  a  false  position.  .  .  .  No,  no,  I  have  not ! 
Why  should  we  care,  as  long  as  we  have  some- 
thing to  hope  for  ?  .  .  .  Are  you  afraid  ? — 
afraid  to  take  my  own  front  room  for  just 
this  night,  while  I  take  the  back  ?  If  so, 
I  won't  say  a  word  to  persuade  you.  I  will 
do  anything  your  woman's  brain  suggests 
except — except  that  I  know  I  could  not  rest 
until   I   saw  you  safe   again  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  her  Hps 
setting  a  Httle.  ''  What  you  mean  is,  that 
you  wish  me  to  take  the  back  room,  and  you 
the  front.  Then  you  can  trust  me.  I  can't 
think  of  anjrthing  if  you  cannot." 

They  moved  on  again,  less  quickly.  He  had 
stated  a  proposition,  but  neither  he  nor  she 
had  the  least  belief  in  its  reality.  An  inevit- 
able lethargy  had  succeeded  the  whirlwind : 


THE   BORDERLAND  205 

vague  ecstasy  in  the  man  at  his  own  daring 
and  triumph — mute,  unspeakable  awe  in  the 
woman  at  her  own  bHnd  obedience  to  the 
man. 

They  passed  within  a  few  yards  of  Miss 
Valj can's  stately-looking  house.  The  man 
looked  up,  and  saw  the  crimson-shaded  light 
in  Bede's  room.  If  he  could  have  called 
to  Bede,  and  to  Bede  alone,  he  would  have 
said  :  "  Look — look  !  '  There  is  no  sin 
where  no  sin  is  intended  !  '  I  win  her  for 
God — not  for  myself."  And  the  woman, 
about  to  pause  and  speak  again  before  it 
became  too  late,  as  it  seemed,  saw  the  working 
of  his  haggard  but  happy  face,  and  realized 
anew  that  nothing  she  could  say  to-night 
would  shake  his  determination. 

Perhaps,  had  it  been  possible  to  prolong 
that  walk  indefinitely,  he  would  willingly 
have  done  so.  But  he  knew  her  ;  he  believed 
he  could  follow  the  mazes  of  her  mind  as  she 
moved  beside  him.  So  essentially  human 
herself,  so  steeped  in  the  practical  and  com- 
monplace, it  was  for  him  to  avoid  anything 
which  might  give  her  a  doubt  of  his  sanity. 
So  he  drew  up  without  any  show  of  hesitation 
a  pace  or  so  from  Mrs.  Blinco's  gateway.  It 
was  a  moment  palpitating  with  mystery  and 
problem  from  the  view-point  of  the  world 
around ;  but  John  Laverock  spoke  as  natur- 
ally as  though  none  existed. 


2o6  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  In  the  morning — perhaps — I  may  decide 
to  tell  her.  To-night,  if  she  should  be  waiting 
up,  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  her  under- 
stand, and " 

"  Yes,  she'd  drive  me  out,"  Lou  finished 
for  him.  Much  of  her  wonted  composure 
seemed  to  have  returned,  but  her  breath 
came  faster,  and  her  dry,  dilated  eyes  showed 
a  fear  of  the  dark  silence  behind  and  ahead 
that  maybe  she  had  never  felt  until  now. 
"  She'd  drive  me  out  at  sight,  and  you  too  ; 
and  you  know  it — your  voice  shows.  You 
can't  deceive  me." 

"  I  don't  mean  to,"  he  said  gravely.  "  If 
you  can  trust  me,  all  questions  are  answered 
that  you  and  I  need  trouble  about.  Eleven 
o'clock  is  not  of  our  own  deliberate  choosing, 
always  remember.  Besides  " — he  chafed  her 
hand  again,  and  smoothed  back  the  disordered 
hair  from  her  brows — "  these  rooms  are  quite 
my  own,  until  I  give  up  tenancy.  Have  no 
fear  at  all !  " 

*'And  then — then  what  about  the  morning?" 
she  breathed,  half  clinging,  half  resisting. 
It  could  be  only  himself  and  his  own  position 
that  she  was  troubled  over,  he  told  himself 
with  a  twinge — and  yet  with  a  fresh  thrill  of 
hope  for  her  womanhood. 

"  Leave  that  to  me,  cannot  you  ?  You 
forget  one  thing,  Lou.  It  means  this — and 
only  this."     He  bent  close,     "  I  have  your 


THE  BORDERLAND  207 

honour  to  guard  from  now;  and  my  own  honour 
depends  on  my  doing  that.  You  can  under- 
stand ?  Then,  let  all  else  go.  Listen  quite 
calmly,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes— yes— I  am  !  " 

"  I  am  going  in  with  my  key.  I  must  leave 
you  here  a  minute — perhaps  longer — oh,  you 
don't  know  how  I  trust  you  now !  Then  I 
have  simply  to  open  the  glass  doors  there. 
Just  that." 

He  pressed  and  released  her  hands. 
Amber  Lou  caught  at  his  arm  again,  and 
stood  an  instant,  looking  beyond  him.  Then, 
with  a  quiver  of  her  breath,  she  walked  quietly 
on  alone,  through  the  gateway,  and  to  the 
end  of  the  small  square  of  ground  fronting 
the  windows.  He  could  see  her,  through  the 
evergreen  border,  standing  very  still.  Startled 
for  the  moment,  he  understood  ;  and  his  heart 
swelled. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear,"  he  said  across  the 
border.     "  I  will  not  keep  you  long  like  that." 

He  went  steadily  in  as  usual,  just  swinging 
the  gate  to  after  him.  His  key  clicked,  and 
the  door  closed  behind  him.  The  bolts  shot 
into  place,  leaving  the  woman  outside.  And, 
as  it  was  to  be,  a  questioning,  shawl-draped 
figure  rose  from  a  sentinel-post  in  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  BUnco  had  chosen  to  wait. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

"  \/0U,  Mr.  Laverock  ?  " 
1  "  It  is  !  " 

"  You  do  know  the  time,  I  presume,  sir  ?  " 
she  asked,  coldly  solemn.  "  I  may  be  for- 
given for  thinking  you  out  of  your  senses,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"  Certainly — certainly,"  he  called  back, 
almost  cheerfully.  Yet  how  his  heart 
throbbed  !  "As  long  as  I  am  not,  and  time 
proves  it,  what  odds  ?  " 

"  Odds  ? "  she  repeated.  She  was  not 
feigning  her  suppressed  indignation.  '*  A 
sick  man,  barely  up  from  his  bed,  to  go  career- 
ing about  the  streets  until  twenty  to  midnight? 
Is  that  nothing  ?  If  I  had  been  a  professional 
nurse  you  would  not  have  dared.  As  it  is — 
well,  there,  I  consider  it  unkind — ungrateful." 
And  the  shawl-fringe  went  to  her  eyes.  She 
had  watched  the  clock,  and  burned  gas,  for 
over  two  hours.  And^he  walked  in  as  if  nothing 
had  happened — and  seemed  none  the  worse  ! 

"  Oh,  come  !  "  he  said,  a  little  impatiently. 
"  I  have  work  in  the  world  to  do,  like  your- 
self, and  I  must  try  to  do  it.     But — but  I 

208 


THE   BORDERLAND  209 

am  tired  ;  you'll  believe  that.  I  want  no- 
thing— nothing  at  all,  thank  you.  Good- 
night !  " 

She  stood  like  a  drab  ghost  in  the  dimness 
for  a  moment,  looking  at  him,  as  he  held  open 
the  back-room  door.     His  voice  recalled  her. 

"  Is — ^is  Mr.  Bhnco  in  ?  "  he  asked  a  little 
thickly. 

"  He  is,"  she  repHed,  with  emphasis.  "  Well 
you  may  enquire.  It  appears  to  me  that  the 
world  is  slowly  going  upside  down — slowly 
but  very  surely.  Ah,  well,  I'm  no  one — I 
don't  count." 

"  You've  been  very,  very  good,"  he  rapped 
out.  "  I  shall  repay  you,  for  all.  Is  that 
enough  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  that — never  mind 
that.  I  shall  never  be  missed — not  even  by 
my  own  husband.  Good-night !  There  is 
your  medicine — the  doctor's  boy  brought  it. 
Take  it ;  I  don't  expect  you  to  drink  it. 
Good-night !  " 

He  held  his  breath,  literally,  until  sure  that 
the  door  above  the  staircase  had  closed 
finally.  He  held  it  for  another  spell — until 
his  heart  threatened  to  burst.  Then  he 
turned  the  door-key  on  the  inside,  and  walked 
to  the  folding-doors.  He  would  not  hurry, 
he  told  himself.     But — 

"  Oh,  Lou,  Lou  !  "  he  was  saying,  in  a  moan 
of  misgiving,  as  he  had  to  take  that   silent 

o 


210  THE  BORDERLAND 

leap  across  the  front  room.   "  I  trusted  you  !  '* 

He  shot  up  the  bhnd.  And  she  was  there, 
with  only  the  glass  between.  She  had  not 
stirred.  He  waited  just  a  moment,  his  pale 
face  smiling  back  at  her  reassuringly.  Then 
steadily  he  slid  back  the  fastenings.  One 
unseeing  glance  she  gave  at  the  night  around, 
one  back  at  himself,  and  then  was  inside. 
He  just  pressed  her  hand  again.  "  Victory  !  " 
he  whispered. 

It  was  not  for  her  to  understand — not  yet. 
As  far  as  she  grasped,  he  might  be  meaning 
his  own  fleshly  triumph  over  another  man — 
Cobra  King.  But  he  whispered  it :  "  Vic- 
tory !  "  and  it  had  a  fear-dispersing  sound. 

She  had  been  to  these  rooms  before  ;  but 
now  all  was  different.  At  first  she  would 
not  move.  Then,  lifting  her  head,  she  gave 
before  her  the  swift  look  of  a  startled  child. 
Her  face  flamed.  It  was  new,  sudden,  con- 
sciousness of  her  sex.  The  flame,  dying  out, 
left  her  very  white.  But  all  that  the  man 
did  not  seem  to  see. 

He  had  lowered  the  blinds,  turned  up  the 
gas,  and  moved  about  the  room  quietly — but 
not  on  tiptoe,  or  stealthily.  Once  again  he 
had  been  forgetting  all  about  his  supper,  but 
it  had  been  spread  out  there  with  a  sarcastic 
elaboration  by  Mrs.  BHnco's  hands,  and  it  had 
a  not  unwelcome  look  in  the  mystic  nebulosity 
which,  spite  of  himself,  still  clung  about  the 


THE   BORDERLAND  2ii 

situation.  In  fact,  as  he  moved,  he  kept 
turning  his  head  furtively.  He  half  thought 
the  still  figure  of  Amber  Lou  must  be  a  myth 
that  would  vanish.  And  oh,  the  tense, 
suppressed  joy  of  each  realization  that  she 
was  standing  there  ! 

He  thought  rapidly,  and  decided  that 
nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  to  insist 
upon  her  sharing  the  meal  with  him.  That 
would  break  the  spell  for  her.  He  was  not 
fearing  in  the  least  now ;  but — she  was  a 
woman.  And  the  world  casts  the  stone  at 
the  woman,  and  never  at  the  man. 

It  was  solely  the  stern  necessity  to  whisper 
everything  that  galled  him  now. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  "  it  is  only  just  to  ourselves, 
and  kind  to  her.  Let  her  sleep  quite  peace- 
fully, now  she  can.  I  do  feel  happy,  Donna  ! 
It's  a  new  feeling — something  more  than 
happiness.  I  have  done  the  only  thing  I  could 
think  of  in  the  circumstances,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  regret  it  in  the  least.  I  don't !  " 

"  Sure  ?  "  she  whispered,  looking  at  him. 
On  her  part,  she  was  beginning  to  wonder 
hazily  just  when  and  where  the  "  preacher  " 
had  sHpped  from  him,  and  only  the  "  man  " 
had  been  left .  She  only  knew  she  could  never, 
never,  think  of  him  as  anything  but  a  man 
again. 

"  Perfectly  !  " 

"  And  yet — yet  you  might  have  been  lying 


212  THE   BORDERLAND 

dead  by  now.  He  meant  it — to-night — this 
time,"  she  said,  still  standing  stiff.  "  You 
don't  know,  but  I  knew.  He  had  waited  for 
you — not  me — with  that  stone.  He  meant 
it,  and  he  means  it  still." 

"  Then,  we  won't  fear.  Forewarned,  we 
shall  be  forearmed.  Just  leave  everything 
to  me  from  this  moment.  You're  still  very 
cold,  although  it  is  really  warm  to-night !  " 
He  took  off  her  jacket,  and  then  her  hat, 
and  laid  them  carefully  upon  a  chair.  He 
would  have  lit  a  fire  had  he  dared.  Instead, 
he  drew  her  to  the  table. 

''  Now,  dear,  don't  say  a  word  to  wound 
me.  Eat  half  of  my  supper,  and  I  will  eat  the 
other  half — not  because  we  want  it,  but  be- 
cause it  is  wise.  What  is  there  ?  Not  much 
for  *  a  grand  house  ',  I'm  afraid,  Lou.  Still, 
we're  quite  happy !  "  He  had  to  fall  back 
on  that  iteration  again. 

Amber  Lou  put  a  piece  of  bread  to  her 
mouth,  and  paused.  With  wide  blue  eyes 
she  stared  straight  before  her.  A  series  of 
sudden  little  chokes  followed  each  other 
quickly  in  her  throat.  The  man  reached 
across,  held  her  hand,  said  "  No  !  "  in  a  deep, 
quiet  voice  ;  and  she  was  stilled. 

"  I  won't  again,"  she  said,  almost  piteously. 
"  But  you  know — you  know  how  you  found 
me. 

"  Enough !  "  he  said,  in  the  same  hushing 


THE  BORDERLAND  213 

way.  "  I  have  drawn  a  line  behind  us, 
and  you  will  not  cross  it  again  while  I  live. 
Now,  eat !  " 

She  obeyed,  in  a  subdued,  stupefied  man- 
ner. Now  and  then,  when  he  looked  across, 
her  filmed  blue  eyes,  watching  him  so  intently, 
gave  him  a  faint,  half-unconscious,  smile 
that  made  him  want  to  leap  up,  and  kneel 
beside  her  and  draw  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  thank  her.  But  to  do  anything  of  that, 
he  knew,  might  bring  the  outburst  that 
nothing  could  check.  All  was  strange  ;  all 
was  uncertain — save  that  she  was  gradually 
fitting  herself  to  the  position — trjdng  to  be 
the  woman  he  believed  her  to  be.  That  was 
wonderful  enough  ! 

Now  the  meal  WcLS  over.  He  was  not  going 
to  sit  and  talk  to  her,  as  if  eager  to  prolong  the 
mere  novelty.  As  he  rose,  she  stood  up ; 
but  he  motioned  her  back. 

"  You've  been  so  brave — so  tactful — far 
more  than  I  could  have  asked.     Be  so  still !  " 

He  went  across  to  the  broad,  old-fashioned 
couch  in  the  corner,  and  quietly  stripped 
away  the  coverings.  Her  under-lip  twitching 
now  and  then,  she  watched  him  moving  to 
and  fro  between  the  folding-doors.  In  a  few 
minutes  she  knew  that  he  had  practically 
transferred  the  bulk  of  his  own  bedding  to 
the  couch.  She  wanted  to  rise  up  against  it, 
but  could  not ;    the  very  naturalness  of  the 


214  THE  BORDERLAND 

man's  method  conveyed  to  her  the  highest 
sense  of  his  dehcacy  and  resolution.  But, 
finally,  when  the  pillows  had  been  placed, 
the  woman  in  her  revolted.  She  would  not 
be  outdone.  She  walked  through  and  stood 
looking  down  at  his  own  mattress  with  a 
sensation  not  easily  described. 

"  Yes,  I  will  see — I  will  speak,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  I've  not  said  anything,  but  I  knew 
you  were  not  even  fit  to  be  out  of  doors  to- 
night, much  less — this  !  Bring  half  of  them 
back,  please !  " 

He  stood  firm.  So  did  Amber  Lou.  Be- 
fore it  could  reach  smiling-point,  she  pushed 
past  him  and  showed  what  she  meant.  Then, 
with  her  own  hands,  she  calmly  prepared  his 
bed.    She  went  up  to  him,  without  a  pause. 

"  Now  you  know  whether  you  can  trust 
her.     Good-night !  " 

"  I  shall  not  say  it,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  It  sounds  like  a  farewell — even  that  word. 
No  ;  you'll  be  so  near  that  I  need  only  say 
'  God  bless  you  !  '  " 

She  turned  away.  She  turned  again,  drew 
his  face  down  a  little  abruptly,  and  put  her  lips 
to  his  cheek  ;  as  to  say  that  she  could  appre- 
ciate all,  and  that  she  was  woman  enough  to 
divine  where  the  "  victory  "  really  lay  that 
night — between  the  fleshly  and  the  spiritual 
forces   within  himself. 

She  went  through,  nearly  closing  the  folding 


THE  BORDERLAND  215 

doors  behind  her.  His  own  room  was  in 
darkness,  save  for  a  ghmmer  from  the  low 
gasHght  he  had  left  burning  in  hers.  As  he 
moved  quietly  back,  he  found  himself  totter- 
ing, in  a  weakness  so  pronounced  that  he 
could  wonder  where  all  his  nervous  strength 
had  come  from  that  evening.  As  he  took 
off  his  shoes,  his  eyes  were  closing  in  a  deadly 
weariness.  Yet — he  sprang  to  the  realization 
sharply — he  must  not  sleep.  Not  for  one 
minute.  There  was  the  morning  to  be  reck- 
oned with.  He  had  compelled  her  mute 
compliance  on  every  point. 

He  lay  down  on  the  bed  just  as  he  was. 
Without  listening,  he  knew  that  Amber 
Lou,  in  her  room,  had  done  the  same.  He 
was  wishing  earnestly  she  might  be  able  to 
forget  herself  for  a  few  hours,  but  dared  not 
go  beyond  the  bare  hope. 

Sleep  ?  Nay.  A  sort  of  vertigo  had  taken 
his  brain  round  and  round  like  a  maelstrom 
the  moment  his  head  touched  the  pillows. 
It  frightened  him.  He  swayed  up,  coldest 
sweat  breaking  out  at  every  pore.  He  sat 
in  tremor  after  tremor.  If — ^if  the  threaten- 
ing physical  breakdown  came  now ! 

A  gulp  of  cold  water  kept  it  at  bay.  If  he 
could  only  venture  to  draw  those  folding-doors 
quite  close,  she  might  not  have  to  hear  him 
tip-toeing  to  and  fro.  A  long  time  he  waited, 
as  it  seemed  ;   and  then  stole  to  do  it.     And 


2i6  THE  BORDERLAND 

instantly  came  her  voice,  in  two  breathless 
bursts,  telling  that  she  was  upon  her  feet. 

"  What  is  it  ?     What  is  the  time  ?  " 

He  started  back  as  if  the  woodwork  had 
burned  him.  Only  with  the  greatest  effort 
he  controlled  his  throat. 

"  It's  all  right.  You're  not  to  worry  about 
me.  I  felt  faint — unwell — and  I  did  not 
wish  to  disturb  you.     That's  all." 

"  I  ought  to  worry,"  came  her  voice,  softly 
vehement,  in  the  pause.  "  You  were  ill. 
I  knew  it — when  I  first  looked  at  you.  Can 
I— can  I " 

"  Hush — no  !  I'm  very  much  annoyed 
with  myself  for  making  you  think  that. 
You  are  to  lie  down,  dear,  and  just  forget 
everything,  as  I  am  going  to  do.  I'll  call  you 
in  time — ^long  before  any  one  is  about." 

Another  pause.  He  had  cunningly  drawn 
the  doors  almost  together  by  degrees. 
Then — 

"  I  don't  beheve  you  !  "  flashed  from  be- 
hind them,  dangerously  audible.  "  How 
would  you  wake  ? — how  could  you  ?  I  know. 
You  were  going  to  sit  up  !  " 

"  Nonsense,  Lou  !  Don't  get  excited.  Look 
here — could  you  sleep,  if  I  can  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

And  he  gave  a  little  groan. 

'*  I  thought  not.  I've  roused  you.  But 
try.     I'm  gone.    Try  !  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  217 

He  slipped  away,  looked  out  through  the 
back  window,  and  wondered  how  the  stark 
hours,  with  his  nerves  still  at  that  elastic 
stretch  of  suspense,  were  to  be  Hved  through. 
He  tried  to  forget  her — to  keep  his  mind 
from  treacherously  passing  the  doors  and 
catching  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  lay  with  her 
eyes  wide  open  ;  but  he  found  that  an  im- 
possibiUty.  He  had  been  swept  by  yearning 
pity  into  that  kiss  ;  he  had  looked  deeper 
into  her  woman's  soul  than  any  other  man  had 
done ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  humanly  sup- 
posed she  could  forget  in  an  hour. 

Sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  he  forced 
himself  out  of  a  partial  stupor,  and  looked 
again  at  his  watch.  Ten  minutes  to  two. 
He  listened  for  her  breathing,  but  could  hear 
nothing.  To  and  fro  he  went  tip-toeing,  now 
and  then  putting  a  hand  to  his  head  to  keep 
back  that  intolerable  foreboding  of  collapse. 
He  thought  of  his  medicine,  and  drank 
a  double  dose  at  random — he  would  do  any- 
thing to  keep  capable  and  clear-headed  until, 
say,  half -past  five. 

Now  it  was  half-past  two.  In  about  three 
hours  more  the  obstinate  sky  out  there  would 
be  streaked  with  grey  dawn.  Then  he  would 
steal  out  to  the  kitchen  and  make  a  cup  of 
tea — ^no,  two  cups.  A  little  later,  he  would 
unfasten  the  glass  doors  and  walk  quietly 
from  the  house  with  her ;    and  Mrs.  Blinco 


2i8  THE  BORDERLAND 

might  conclude  that  his  madness  had  ex- 
tended now  to  long  tramps  before  break- 
fast. Beyond  that  point  his  speculations 
would  not  go. 

"  Oh,  this  pain — this  sickness  !  "  he  cried 
to  himself  once,  with  suppressed  impatience. 
"  Oh,  if  I  could  sleep  for  one  hour,  and  be 
sure  of  waking.     One  hour  !  " 

He  flung  himself  down  on  the  bed  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  arms.  A  long  time  he 
seemed  to  lie,  trying  to  force  a  lethargy  and 
yet  struggling  against  it.  There  were  sharp 
little  agonies  darting  like  lightning-streaks 
through  his  forehead,  and  at  times  a  "  winding 
up  "  of  his  brain  that  seemed  about  to  go  on 
to  snapping  point.  But  he  bore  it,  seldom 
stirring — only  clenching  his  teeth  against 
any  sound,  or  swinging  up  an  arm  in  the 
darkness  now  and  again. 

He  had  heard  nothing.  Maybe  the  lethargy 
was  gaining  hold  without  his  knowledge. 
He  could  not  move,  when  there  came  a  rustle 
so  soft  and  so  intangible  as  to  suggest  the 
entry  of  a  spirit.  Something  was  hovering 
over  him ;  something  that  bent  close,  and 
that  tried  not  to  breathe  too  palpably.  He 
opened  his  eyes  suddenly  wide. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  with  a  moan,  his  arm  flung 
up.     *'  Oh,  this  night  !  " 

**  I  know  !  "  Closer  still  she  stooped,  and 
put    her    hand    upon    his    forehead.     "  Lie 


THE  BORDERLAND  219 

still.  I  know !  I've  watched  you  till  I 
couldn't  bear  it  any  longer." 

She  shpped  her  hand  to  and  fro  very  softly 
through  the  wave  of  hair  above  his  temples, 
as  if  instinct  told  her  where  the  "  lifting  '* 
pain  must  lie.  Again  and  again  the  man 
moaned,  and  then  he  was  still.  The  touch — 
Amber  Lou's  touch — although  not  trained 
to  softness,  came  like  a  velvety  green  oasis 
and  soothed  his  raw  nerves  as  nothing  else 
could  have  done.  When  it  seemed  about 
to  cease  he  groped  out  to  hold  her  to 
him. 

"  Yes,  all  right,"  came  her  far-away  whis- 
per. "  I'm  here.  I  ought  to  have  known — 
I  did !  Let  everything  go.  I'll  know  just 
what  to  do." 

The  minutes  passed — oh,  so  slowly,  so 
curiously !  Her  effort  had  tired,  but  the 
lulling  caress  went  on,  save  at  moments  when 
her  own  weary  head  sank  forward.  If  she 
paused  for  ever  so  little,  his  breathing,  growing 
deeper,  seemed  about  to  break  in  a  quiver, 
and  his  arm  made  that  groping  movement. 
Sleep  had  come  to  him,  she  felt  almost  posi- 
tive ;  and  yet  the  mind  within  him  was 
afraid  to  cease  work — on  her  account ! 

She  stole  her  face  round  once — ^just  once — 
to  look  past  the  crevice  of  his  blind.  There 
was  just  a  suspicion  of  sickliness  in  the  sky 
out  there,  but  nothing  more.     Unthinkingly — 


220  THE  BORDERLAND 

automatically — she  went  to  lift  her  aching 
body  from  the  cramped  position.  And  a 
long  tremble  went  through  her  as  the  silence 
was  cut  by  his  dull,  weak  little  cry. 

"  Don't— go  !  " 

"  Not  ?  "  she  said,  looking  low  into  his 
face.  "  Not  ?  You  want  me  ?  .  .  .  'Sh  !  No, 
I  won't  go  !  " 

She  paused.  And  then,  ever  so  softly,  she 
lay  down  beside  him,  and  drew  his  head 
close  to  her,  and  held  him  tightly  so,  his  cheek 
buried  against  the  quick  throb  of  her  heart. 

^  ^  ^  ^  9p 

It  was  full  daylight  when  John  Laverock 
heard  a  sound  through  his  dreams  as  of 
muffled  drums  beating.  It  was  the  incessant 
tap  of  fingers  against  his  door  panels. 

"  No — no  !  "   he  half  shouted,  starting  up. 

"  I    beg    your    pardon,    Mr.    Laverock  ? 
Breakfast  ready,  when  you  are.     Nearly  nine 
o'clock !  " 

He  stared  around.  He  was  alone.  He 
looked  at  the  pillow  beside  his — but  he  was 
alone.  Fear  and  vast  wonder — ay  shame  and 
j  oy — held  him  in  their  grip  for  a  minute .  Then 
he  saw  a  folded  scrap  of  paper  pinned  to  his 
mirror  there.  As  if  still  dreaming  he  read 
the  few  words  that  had  been  scrawled  across 
it  with  a  stump  of  pencil. 

"  Just  six  o'clock.  Am  going.  Do  nothing 
to-day  but  rest,  because  I  ask  you.     Shall 


THE  BORDERLAND  221 

pass  by  end  of  street  about  7  to-night,  if 
you  wish  it." 

"  Bless  her  !  Bless  her  !  "  he  said  brokenly, 
crumpling  it  up.  "  I  will !  "  It  was  a  new 
voice,  even  to  himself.  The  weak  sunlight 
flooding  the  room  was  more  golden  than 
ever  it  had  seemed  before. 

He  trod  to  the  folding-doors  as  toward 
something  semi-sacred.  It  seemed  beyond 
belief :  she  had  carried  back  her  couch- 
coverings  in  silence,  and  removed  all  visible 
traces.  Then  she  had  gone  out  by  the  glass 
doors  just  at  daybreak,  wedging  them  to- 
gether with  a  bit  of  wood  after  her.  It  was 
he  who  had  slept  that  night,  and  not  Amber 
Lou. 

He  refastened  the  windows,  and  went 
back.  And  then  Mrs.  Blinco  was  tapping 
again  with  his  breakfast,  and  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  interval  had  to  pass  into  the  realm 
of  memory. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AGAINST  all  traditions,  at  noon  that  day 
the  sun  hung  like  a  great  orange  be- 
hind a  veil  of  heat.  By  four  o'clock  it  was 
a  fading  crimson  blotch  behind  the  bank 
of  slate-coloured  cloud  that  forged  over 
London,  giving  it  an  unnatural,  funereal 
appearance.  People  turned  up  their  faces 
for  a  breath  of  air  that  was  not,  and  to  wonder 
what  the  heavens  were  plotting. 

For  John  Laverock  the  sun  had  not  lost 
a  shred  of  its  first  brightness.  He  trod 
Kingsland  Road,  and  then  Holly  Street, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  detached  from  his 
surroundings.  Two  small  facts,  if  he  could 
have  halted  to  realize,  were  typical  of  his 
changed  mental  condition  :  Hoxton  seemed 
to  have  slid  quite  into  a  background,  and  he 
had  forgotten  Bede  Valjean — Bede,  who 
lay  propped  up  in  that  room  and  waited 
for  him. 

The  obscure  street  just  off  Dalston  Lane 
looked  not  nearly  as  dramatic  and  depressing 
now  as  it  had  looked  by  night.  But,  for  him, 
there  would  ever  be  evil  in  its  sinister  silence — 

222 


THE  BORDERLAND  223 

its  pretence  at  respectable  unobtrusiveness. 
It  was  the  supine  tentacle  of  an  octopus, 
waiting  to  absorb  its  prey.  He  walked  its 
length  for  the  last  time,  and  knocked  at  the 
house. 

A  woman  put  her  head  from  an  upper 
window  and  looked  at  him.  He  looked 
back  at  her  in  silence.  She  came  down,  opened 
the  door  two  inches,  and  looked  him  up  and 
down  again.     He  had  an  unmistakable  "  cut." 

"  Yes,  I  knocked.  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?  " 
he  asked  straightly. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  She  looked  as  if  her 
nights  and  days  were  spent  between  her  bed 
and  the  card-table.  Every  trace  of  feminine 
freshness  had  been  burned  out  of  her  skin. 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Only  to  know  if  Miss  Bohannan  is  in." 

"  Who  on  earth's  that  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  another  woman's 
voice  came  from  a  quarter  invisible. 

"  He  means  that  girl  who  came  Saturday 
night.  She  went  out  yesterday  evening, 
and  hasn't  been  back." 

"  Thanks — thanks  !  "  His  heart  leaped. 
He  put  a  foot  on  the  mat.  "  I  have  simply 
called  for  her  boxes.  She  will  not  be  back. 
If  you'll  just " 

The  woman  silently  yielded  way  for  him. 
There  was  a  look  about  him  which  seemed 
wholly  incompatible  with  natural  deductions, 


224  THE   BORDERLAND 

but  which  compelled  obedience.  She  pointed, 
and  ran  back  to  whisper  with  the  other  woman. 

He  had  stepped  into  a  room  that  was 
gloomy  and  stuffy.  He  could  have  shuddered 
at  the  tawdry  draperies — at  the  few  innocent- 
looking  prints  on  the  wall.  Striking  a  match, 
he  found  the  boxes — two  cheap  tin  things. 
He  would  not  glance  at  their  contents,  to 
see  if  they  were  worth  plucking  from  this 
place  ;  but  for  just  a  moment  it  was  hot  in 
him  to  stride  out  and  say  :  "I  have  changed 
my  mind.  She  will  not  require  again  any- 
thing that  was  left  here  of  hers."  But  there 
might  be  a  relic — some  small  memento  of 
the  past  to  which  Amber  Lou  had  clung. 
He  retied  the  cord,  gripped  both  boxes  in 
one  hand,  and  stepped  out. 

"  There  was  a  trifle  to  pay,  I  understand," 
he  said  bluntly. 

This  time  they  were  prepared  for  him, 
with  folded  hands,  little  coughs,  and  business- 
like attitudes.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  they 
had  jumped  to  an  inspiration — he  was  engaged 
in  Rescue  Work. 

"  Yes.  Fifteen  shillings,"  one  said  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  replied. 

''You  think  so?"  she  tittered.  "Then 
perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  put  back 
the  boxes  and  allow  Miss  What's-her-name 
to  settle  her  own  affairs." 


THE  BORDERLAND  225 

He  looked  from  face  to  face,  but  neither 
flinched  in  the  least.  It  was  a  novelty,  for 
the  time  of  day. 

**  You  might  lower  your  demand  if  I 
called  the  police,"  he  suggested. 

"  Oh,  we  are  quite  friendly  with  the  police, 
thank  you,"  was  the  reply,  convincing  enough. 

*'  In  that  case,"  he  said,  taking  his  resolu- 
tion, "  you  must  send  them  after  me,  for 
that  is  all  I  have  with  me,  and  all  I  intend 
to  pay  you." 

He  put  down  half-a-sovereign,  and  walked 
out  with  the  boxes.  He  heard  a  smothered 
cascade  of  laughter  behind,  and  knew  that 
there  was  no  risk  of  a  denouement.  In  five 
minutes  more  the  street  was  left  behind 
for  ever. 

It  was  not  yet  half-past  five,  but  the  air 
had  grown  purply  dark.  A  light  in  an  upper 
window  showed  him  Mrs.  Blinco's  wavering 
reflection  on  the  blind  there.  He  breathed 
freely.  Entering  quietly  with  his  key,  he 
slid  the  boxes  far  under  his  bed,  knowing 
from  experience  that  they  would  be  safe 
there  until  Saturday  morning,  when  the  dust- 
clouds  drove  him  from  the  house.  Then 
he  drank  a  cup  of  tea,  and  waited.  Problems 
had  to  solve  themselves  now  as  they  arose. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  house  again — at 
half-past  six — a  greenish-yellow  fork  of  light 
darted  down  the  heavens.     It  startled  him 


226  THE   BORDERLAND 

a  little,  but  he  went  on,  merely  wondering 
that  there  had  been  no  thunder.  And  it  had 
quite  gone  from  his  mind  when,  a  few  minutes 
later,  he  saw  a  small,  calm  figure  turn  the 
corner  opposite  to  where  he  waited.  He 
went  across,  took  her  hands  in  his,  looked 
down  into  her  face  once,  and  was  full  of  a 
deep  content. 

"  You  are  early !  "  he  whispered. 

"  So  are  you  !  '*  she  whispered  back.  The 
scared,  defiant  stare  had  gone  from  her  eyes. 
There  was  only  the  least  tremble  in  her  hands. 

"Don't  talk  yet,"  he  said.  "We  won't 
stand  here.  There  is  the  evening  before 
us." 

"  And  the  storm,"  she  added,  in  the  same 
bated  way.  It  was  as  if  both  unconsciously 
tried  to  pick  up  the  thread  where  it  had 
dropped  at  dawn. 

He  had  drawn  her  arm  within  his.  It 
seemed  the  right  thing  to  do  now — now 
that  he  had  plucked  her  out  of  her  own 
element  into  his,  with  all  its  inevitable  res- 
traint and  strangeness.  Morally  considered, 
she  was  a  wild  thing,  only  lassoed  into  a 
semblance  of  submission  as  yet.  If  he  once 
allowed  her  to  reahze  the  depth  of  what  the 
world  termed  the  social  gulf — and  there  his 
thoughts  paused.  There  was  one  thing  that 
could  bridge  any  human  gulf,  however  deep, 
^t    a    bound,  and   that,   even   now,   he   felt 


THE   BORDERLAND  227 

a  curious  shame  in  contemplating.  He  wanted 
to  believe  that  something  far  deeper,  far 
nobler,  had  swayed  him  throughout. 

They  had  walked  on  and  on,  like  two  shy 
children,  till  almost  the  length  of  the  long, 
rural-like  Southgate  Road  lay  behind  them. 
In  truth,  there  was  something  in  her  silence 
that  made  him  afraid  to  break  his  own. 
Being  a  man,  with  limitations  on  certain 
essential  points,  he  had  left  it  to  her  to  devise 
in  the  interval  a  way  out  of  the  temporary 
dilemma  as  to  ways  and  means.  But  no 
effort  to  do  so  reflected  itself  in  her  face, 
with  its  calmly-compressed  lips,  its  absent 
blue  eyes,  and  its  expression  of  half  sad, 
half  stubborn  abandonment  to  him.  What, 
he  asked  himself,  if  she  had  taken  him  literally 
at  his  word  in  everything  ! 

One  more  baleful  fork  shot  down  the  sky 
ahead  with  the  swiftness  of  a  serpent's  sting. 
This  time  a  distant  growl  made  the  still  air 
quiver.  Two  heavy  rain-drops  splashed  upon 
his  hand  and  upon  hers. 

He  drew  her  to  a  momentary  standstill, 
to  try  and  realize  that  the  night  was  not 
normal.  But  all  was  deceptively  still  again. 
To  turn  back  seemed  somehow  like  admitting 
a  disillusion  or  a  fiasco.  He  went  on,  as 
with  an  objective  in  sight ;  and  Amber  Lou 
walked  passively  beside  him.  He  had  assuredly 
not  intended  to  come  citywards  into  these 


228  THE   BORDERLAND 

crowded  streets  ;  and  yet  the  very  rush  and 
scurry  around  was  a  check  upon  this  perilous, 
lulUng  silence  of  theirs. 

"  Lou  !  "  he  said — "  Donna,  I  mean — 
I'm  going  to  call  you  that.     Do  you  mind  ?  " 

**  Mind  ?  Where  are  we  ?  What  is  there 
to  mind — if  you  like  it  ?  "  she  answered, 
as  in  a  reverie. 

They  were  passing  the  quiet  oasis  known 
as  Finsbury  Circus,  with  its  broad  pavements, 
its  fountain,  and  its  lordly  proof  of  what  the 
State  can  achieve  when  it  makes  up  its  mind 
to  beautify  drab  areas. 

*'  Are  you  tired,   then  ?  *'    he  whispered. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  can  hardly  feel  myself  moving." 

*'  But  you  have  not  left  it  until  now  to — 
to  think  ?  " 

"  I  have  !  "  she  said,  as  if  she  had  been 
preparing  herself  for  a  stern  reproof.  "  I  have ! " 

**  You  have  nowhere  to  go  when — when 
you  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  at  all !  " 

He  was  thrilled  and  silenced  by  mixed 
sensations  for  a  moment.  Then  he  pressed 
her  hand  quickly. 

"  Don't  worry !  What  have  you  done, 
then,  since — since  you  left  me  ?  " 

''  Nothing  !  "  It  was  the  same  passion- 
less voice,  but  with  something  dormant  in  it. 

"I  see.  You  could  not.  What  have  / 
done  ?     Nothing  ! — nothing  but  bring  away 


THE  BORDERLAND  229 

your  boxes  from  that  place.  I  meant,  where 
did  you  go  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  be  all  by  myself — you  made 
me  !  I  went  by  the  tram,  and  it  stopped  at 
Hampstead,  and  I  sat  down  there  in  the 
quiet — that's  all." 

"  But — with  nothing  to  eat  all  day  ?  " 
He   paused,    looking   into   her   face   keenly. 

"  I  never  thought  of  it.  I  didn't  want 
it.  No — no  !  "  She  checked  his  hand,  drew 
him  on.  "  I  don't  want  it  now.  Don't 
keep  thinking  of  me." 

"  But  I  must !  If  I  do  not  it  will  seem 
as  though  I  deliberately  kept  you  in  last 
night's  position.  You  have  nowhere  to  go 
except — except Oh,  Lou  !  " 

That  was  the  extent  of  his  effort.  The 
misgivings  came  so  thickly,  and  paralysed 
his  faculties.  What  could  he  say — what 
ought  he  to  do  ?  Sheer  drugging  impulses 
seemed  drawing  them  along  a  path  to  which 
there  was  no  visible  end.  What  last  night 
had  seemed  a  justifiable  resource 

Both  paused  simultaneously.  He  had  not 
the  faintest  idea  as  to  where  he  was  now, 
and  not  time  to  ascertain.  That  thunder- 
burst  had  come  like  the  stunning  roar  of  a 
tiger  leaping  for  their  very  throats.  Amber 
Lou  gave  a  little  cry  and  clung  to  his  arm. 
There  was  the  briefest,  vaguest  pause — 
another  buffeting  roar — an  avalance  of  sudden 


230  THE  BORDERLAND 

rain  that  whipped  the  pavements  into  foam — a 
series  of  lightning-streaks  which  gave  the 
streets  a  ghastly  illumination — and  a  flight 
of  human  figures  that  left  them  standing 
alone  as  in  a  doomed,  dead  city. 

"  My  precious  !  "  John  Laverock  gasped, 
all  unconsciously.  He  had  thought  to  fling 
his  own  coat  about  her  frail  shoulders,  but 
was  half  blinded.     **  In  here  !  " 

It  was  the  dimly-ht  portal  of  an  old  church 
— one  of  the  old  City  churches  that  may  have 
stood  for  centuries,  half  forgotten,  grandly, 
coldly  serene  amid  the  rush  of  human  progress. 

As  they  panted  through,  the  door  was 
closed  against  the  rain-storm  behind  them. 
The  thunder  without  was  drowned  by  that 
of  the  organ  high  above  the  dim  chancel 
where  tall  candles  flickered  a  light  upon  stone 
figures  and  painted  angels  that  had  looked 
down  upon  the  same  cloister-like  vista  for 
ages.  It  was  London,  and  yet  it  was  like 
stepping  from  earth  across  the  threshold 
of  the  realm  we  see  in  dreams. 

Dotted  here  and  there  along  the  carved 
oaken  pews  was  the  figure  of  a  worshipper, 
almost  lost  in  the  vast  solemnity.  Divine 
service  was  being  held.  The  voice  of  a  man 
robed  in  white,  unreal  in  the  far-back  glow 
of  those  candles,  came  through  the  hush  as 
steadily,  as  conscientiously,  as  though  a  full 
assembly  knelt  there  to  worship  the  Almighty, 


THE  BORDERLAND  231 

as  though  no  torces  of  the  Almighty  were 
whipping  the  fugitive  thousands  outside. 
And  the  low  organ  wail,  and  the  subdued 
intonation  of  unseen  figures,  answered  him 
in  the  pauses,  with  the  greatest  and  saddest 
of  all  finalties  in  language — the  reverent, 
sonorous,  sublime  "  Amen  !  " 

Into  the  remotest  shadowy  recess  of  all 
the  man  had  drawn  the  woman's  figure. 
It  had  begun  to  tremble  violently  against 
him,  as  his  arm  held  her  close.  She  had 
closed  her  eyes,  and  could  not  open  them 
again.  This  vast  solemnity  spoke  to  her 
of  the  end  of  all  things  ;  to  her  mind  the  voice 
of  the  white-robed  man  was  the  voice  that 
calls  to  account  in  the  name  of  the  Majesty 
in  which  all  men  and  women,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  must  keep  their  secret 
belief.  In  this  psychic  hour  of  her  career, 
when  all  had  grown  uncertain  and  vague, 
with  possibilities  hungering  to  sprout  in  the 
dark  so  quickly  that  they  might  exhaust 
their  own  vitality  and  die  back,  this  great 
revelation  shone  suddenly  into  her,  and 
seemed  to  lay  her  smaU  soul  bare.  .  .  .  Once 
at  the  play — a  drama  of  the  emotional  type — 
even  her  scornful  imagination  had  thrilled 
at  the  sight  of  a  stage-woman — a  woman 
like  herself — driven  out  of  a  vile  environment 
by  the  light  of  the  dawning  Cross.  In  this 
moment  she  was  that  woman  ! 


232  THE  BORDERLAND 

The  voice  went  on.  The  voices  answered 
him.  She  seemed  to  fear  to  breathe.  Mere 
physical  movement  seemed  to  disturb  the 
workings  of  a  Divine  process.  In  the  deep 
obscurity  of  the  high,  old-fashioned  pew  the 
man  held  her  tightly  to  him,  as  if  he  under- 
stood— as  if,  through  the  storm,  he  had 
been  the  unsuspecting  instrument  of  God. 

The  steady  dowTi-slash  of  rain  without 
could  just  be  heard.  But  it  belonged  to  an- 
other world.  A  great  silence  had  followed  the 
organ's  last  swell  and  die-away.  The  white- 
robed  figure  of  the  man  had  slowly  advanced. 
He  looked  before  him,  his  hand  upon  the 
eagle-winged  lectern  :  looked  across  the  dim 
space — seemed  to  be  looking  at  themselves. 

A  wild  sob  that  had  been  gathering  in  the 
woman's  throat,  and  shaking  her  breast, 
threatened  to  burst  from  its  bonds.  The 
man — again  as  though  he  understood — put  a 
hand  to  her  Ups,  and  pressed  her  to  him. 

"  Be  brave,"  he  whispered.  "  Let  God 
speak.     Listen  !     He  speaks  to  you  !  " 

And  at  last  the  waiting  voice  came. 

"  For  you,  to-night,  I  have  no  sermon,  but 
a  simple  allegory — a  message  to  those  who  go 
through  life  saying  :  '  There  is  no  Light — 
because  the  Light  has  never  come  to  me  !  ' 
The  picture  of  a  man  as  I  have  seen  him  in 
my  thoughts — bUnd,  perverse,  despairing, 
when  the  truth  knocked  at  his  very  door  I " 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

"  T^RIP,  drip,  drip — but  no  rain.     Drip ! 

iv  at  unnerving  intervals,  with  now 
and  then  that  stiU  smaller  sound  like  that 
of  dry  Ups  parting  for  a  passive  kiss,  or  a 
dumb  man  straining  in  secret  to  regain  his 
voice.  Two  faUing  leaves  had  touched  and 
rustled  '  good-bye '  ;  or  a  shorn  tree  had 
shivered  inertly.  Drip  !  To  the  Man,  watch- 
ing from  his  closed  window  with  dull,  stubborn 
eyes — the  pen  cast  aside  that  meant  his 
livehhood — ^it  was  Hke  the  slow  drain  of 
Hfe-blood.     His  own  ! 

"  He  thought  of  Summer.  O,  God ! — 
Summer,  in  her  whirl  of  yellow  flame,  who 
came  rushing  back  each  year  to  blow  breath 
of  poppies  upon  his  chilled  Umbs  and  faculties, 
who  took  him  to  her  thyme-scented  bosom 
and  wound  her  downy  hair  lovingly  about 
him,  and  from  whose  full  breast  he  drank 
the  warm  milk  that  was  new  life  to  her  best- 
beloved,  most  petulant,  child — the  struggling 
poet  of  moods  !  Summer  ! .  .  .To  stand  and 
see  this  regal,  full-blown  rose  scattered  to 
sodden  soil !     To  see  November,   the  cold- 

us 


234  THE  BORDERLAND 

breath'd,  mist-haloed,  cynical  old  grave- 
digger,  covering  all  with  his  fungi,  his  matted- 
leaf  rugs,  and  his  crape  of  silence !  Out 
of  death,  life — yes  !  Patient  Nature  would 
endure  her  travail  yet  again  ;  Spring  would 
open  its  eyes  to  bhnk  smiles  or  weep  showers  ; 
but  for  that  he  would  have  to  wait  weary 
months.  And,  being  what  he  was,  he  had 
convinced  himself  that  he  could  not  bear  the 
spell  of  waiting  again — that  there  was  no 
relief.  When  his  power  to  work  failed  him 
utterly,  when  the  perverse  despair  reached 
its  fullest  hold,  he  would  fling  open  the  corner 
drawer,  close  his  eyes,  and  clutch  the  cold 
pistol  lying  there.  It  was  something  to  think 
that  he  might  end  all  in  a  moment ! 

"  Asked,  he  would  have  said  impatiently 
that  he  knew  no  religion — required  none. 
But  he  lied  !  He  worshipped  his  own  comfort 
— the  sun. 

"  He  worshipped  it  with  a  passion,  an 
absorbing  sincerity,  that  made  all  other 
worships  seem  incredible  and  make-believe. 
When  the  sun  hung  like  a  topaz  in  serene 
blue,  it  was  for  him  the  only  justification  of 
life.  Those  who  could  not  see  eye  to  eye 
with  him  were  insane.  When  the  drab 
days  came  like  a  shutter  between,  his  heart 
sank  as  though  the  tragic  figure  of  Death 
had  climbed  the  throne  of  the  universe  for 
ever.    This  was  his  blindness — his  inseparable 


THE   BORDERLAND  235 

selfishness.  He  resented  the  shy,  veiled  ap- 
pearance of  Nature  in  her  period  of  gestation. 
He  was  living  only  half  his  appointed  exist- 
ence !  Like  the  child  at  the  play,  he  could 
brook  no  intervals.  He  was  numbed  at  his 
desk — robbed  of  inspiration  and  desire  to 
create.  Poverty  threatened.  He  would  end 
it.  Sooner  or  later  the  culminating  point 
would  come  ! 

**  But  Summer  ! — He  flung  open  his  doors, 
strained  out  his  arms  in  the  glow,  called  to 
the  Woman  to  come  and  realize  that  every- 
thing on  earth — save  herself — responded  to 
the  sun's  caress  and  justified  his  own  bitter 
theory.  .  .  Winter  !  At  the  first  humid  scent 
of  mushrooms  he  grew  silent  and  foreboding. 
No  one  must  laugh  aloud,  or  suggest  that 
the  grey,  stark  stillness  had  a  fitting  place 
in  the  mosaic  of  the  seasons — much  less  an 
artistic  one.  He  shut  himself  obstinately 
in  with  his  fire,  and  shivered  rebelliously,  and 
nursed  his  dyspepsia,  and  only  wrote  in  savage 
spasms  for  the  Woman's  sake.  And  in  his 
heart  he  called  God  more  than  cruel. 

"  The  Woman  was  watching,  too.  Watch- 
ing the  Man.  He  came  always  first :  for 
her,  no  time  to  think  of  seasons.  She  *  under- 
stood '  him.  That  meant,  she  was  expected 
to  understand  ;  she  had  been  singled  out  to 
be  a  struggling  poet's  soul-mate.  His  brain 
was  so  much  greater  than  hers  !     She  must 


236  THE  BORDERLAND 

never  question  or  show  surprise  ;  she  must 
see  life  as  he  saw  it — through  his  dark  glasses. 
Her  great  yearning  love  for  him,  her  belief 
in  his  genius  and  depth,  made  her  an  un- 
conscious willing  martyr.  It  told  her  when 
to  sing  at  her  work,  and  when  to  be  voiceless 
and  sad ;  when  to  arrange  his  room,  and 
when  to  leave  it  severely  untouched.  She 
knew,  through  closed  doors,  the  moment 
when  to  steal  in  and  draw  the  pen  from  his 
fiercely-gripping  fingers  and  thaw  his  bitter- 
ness once  again  close  against  her  throbbing 
heart.  She  knew  when  to  cling  to  him  as 
her  hero,  and  when  to  soothe  him  protectively 
as  her  babe.  The  Man  had  picked  a  pearl 
from  the  oyster  of  life,  but  held  it  so  loosely 
that  it  might  fall  from  his  grasp.  And  this 
was  what  her  love  would  never  let  her  tell 
him  in  words. 

"  She  came  in,  hooded  and  cloaked  for 
her  daily  walk.  His  hand  slipped  away 
from  that  corner  drawer — but  that  she  was 
not  to  know.  It  was  just  to  look  at  him — 
to  let  her  lips  quiver  in  a  mute  kiss  that  need 
not  disturb  him.     And  then.  .  .  . 

"  He  was  crouching  there,  cold,  stubborn, 
breathless — waiting  for  her  to  go  ;  but  to 
her  he  was  a  sick  man  who  had  turned  upon 
his  pillow  to  watch  the  closing  door.  With 
a  little  rush  of  fear  and  longing  she  was 
suddenly  beside  him,  and  had  gathered  him 


THE  BORDERLAND  237 

determinedly  to  her,  and  smoothed  back 
his  hair  in  the  way  known  to  some  dear, 
tender  women,  and  looked  deep  into  his 
eyes. 

"  '  Yes — yes — loved  one,  there  is  light  in 
the  darkness  for  those  who  seek  to  find  !  The 
days  are  passing — our  life  is  going,'  she  said, 
keeping  back  the  tremor  in  her  voice.  *  I 
want  you  to  leave  all  and  come  with  me,  just 
this  once — only  this  once  !  ' 

"  '  Out  in — that  ?  '  He  shivered,  and  tried 
to  draw  away.  He  laughed  derisively,  be- 
cause she  held  him  still.  *  Out  ?  For  the 
mere  love  of  mechanical  walking  ? ' 

"  *  No,'  she  whispered  ;  *  for  love  of  me. 
Wife  knows !  Be  still,  my  husband — bend 
to  my  will  for  just  this  one  hour.  I  will 
never  ask  it  again.     Never  again  !  ' 

"  She  drew  on  his  thick  shoes  and  laced 
them  steadily.  Dazedly  he  rose,  as  she  fitted 
his  overcoat  upon  him,  and  put  a  hand  over 
his  mouth  for  silence.  He  gasped,  and  gasped 
again,  as  she  drew  him  gently  out  of  his 
nerve-drugging  atmosphere  into  the  raw  outer 
world.  The  first  tingle  of  it  crept  over  him 
like  flies  moving  over  bare  flesh.  A  billow 
of  cold  air  seemed  to  engulf  him  and  chill  his 
marrow  and  make  the  thing  grotesquely 
impossible  ;  but  the  Woman  waited.  He 
was  drawn  on,  shuddering  ironically.  So  long 
still  at  his  desk,  he  walked  stifiiy  as  if  on  the 


238  THE  BORDERLAND 

stumps  of  feet ;  but  the  Woman  said  nothing — 
only  held  his  hand  fast  between  hers. 

"  Grotesque — ay  !  What  could  there  be 
in  this  sodden,  leafless  cemetery  of  an  earth 
to  make  a  man  wish  to  remain  upon  it !  And 
yet  the  Woman  seemed  almost  happy,  and 
swung  along  beside  him,  and  sang  softly  to 
herself  as  over  a  secret  still  kept,  and  darted 
him  round  once  to  make  him  see  a  spray  of 
living  berries — sticky  with  the  shrouded  mist 
that  prowled  over  the  universal  ruin  !  And 
now  she  was  turning  calmly  into  the  woods. 
The  woods !  A  lump  had  rattled  in  his 
throat ;  but  she  drew  his  face  sharply  down 
and  kissed  him,  and  stunned  him  with  amaze- 
ment. He  stumbled  dully  on.  He  felt  like 
a  man  dragged  from  the  warm  hollow  of  his 
bed,  thrown  into  the  sea,  and  made  to  swim 
for  his  life. 

"  Down  the  twilight  of  the  long  ride  they 
went,  the  Woman  shaking  back  her  hair, 
and  laughing  warmly  now  as  she  pointed  to 
the  plantation  where  stood  in  readiness  the 
conical  firs  of  the  children's  Christmas  dreams, 
and  jumping  lightly  across  a  ditch  when  the 
Man  walked  round  it,  and  seeming  never  to 
read  the  thing  brooding  beneath  his  silence. 

"  Into  the  sponge  of  moss  his  feet  sank. 
He  loathed  it  all  tensely  ;  he  was  unshakably 
bitter  ;  summer  was  dead,  and  there  was  no 
known  compensation — none  !     Down  the  once 


THE   BORDERLAND  239 

green  drives,  where  in  summer  he  had  held 
his  breath  for  the  dance  of  the  shy  elves  upon 
emerald  velvet,  his  sunken  eyes  looked  now 
for  the  noiseless  glide-by  of  the  funeral  coach. 
Across  the  solemn  glades,  where  lemon  lengths 
of  hght  had  quivered  like  shaken  lances, 
where  crimson  tints  had  imparted  the  holy 
beauty  of  an  old  cathedral,  where  the  very 
hush  had  been  rich  with  the  rush  of  dream- 
angels'  wings, 'he  saw  nothing  now  but  the 
mist-ghoul,  prowling  stealthy  and  poacher- 
like, licking  the  trees  that  stood  as  sentinels 
dead  at  their  posts.  The  birds  were  silent ; 
the  scampering  life  of  the  undergrowth  had 
gone  torpid  in  its  burrows  or  lay  with  its 
tiny  stiff  feet  pointing  mutely  skyward. 
The  mystery  was  torn  away  from  everything. 
That  mossy  niche,  curtained  by  a  mystic 
drapery  of  creeper-tendrils,  where  often  he 
had  sat  with  the  Woman's  head  nestled  against 
him,  was  a  naked,  dreary  burial-mound 
now.  A  few  red  leaves  clung  on  ;  a  few 
pitiful  trailers  hung  bleached  and  dry  like 
the  hair  of  an  old  crone's  head ;  but  the 
glamour  was  gone — at  the  best  these  were 
but  the  few  wisps  of  bunting  left  at  dawn  in 
a  dismantled  ball-room.  It  was  November  ! 
And  without  the  warmth  and  the  glamour 
he  had  told  himself  finally  that  the  blood 
could  not  move  in  his  veins  and  permit  him 
to  write  for  money. 


240  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  And  now  they  had  come  out  into  the 
road  at  the  far  side,  and  he  had  turned 
watering,  incredulous,  desolate  eyes  upon  the 
Woman,  as  he  realized  that  he  must  follow  the 
circuit  of  the  long  road  all  round,  or  recross 
the  naked  woods.  And  again  she  drew  his 
face  quickly  down  to  hers,  and  blew  upon  his 
fingers  and  hushed  his  lips  with  her  hand, 
and  drew  him  on  again — this  strange  Woman  ! 
And  she  had  plucked  a  few  starved  black- 
berries, and  pretended  to  find  them  sweet  and 
fit  for  food  ;  but  he  drew  savagely  away  from 
that  last  word  in  mockery  of  make-believe. 
He  had  obeyed  her  whim — but  he  had  no 
wish  to  live  on. 

"  And  so  on  and  on  they  tramped  between 
the  hedgerows,  the  Woman  still  singing 
softly  to  her  inner  self,  the  Man  still  staring 
ahead,  and  carrying  along  his  sense  of  in- 
justice and  finality.  His  own  cheeks  might 
be  sickly,  but  he  had  glanced  at  hers,  and 
seen  the  paeony  tint  creeping  into  their  thin- 
ness ;  and  so  he  dared  not  say  what  he  wished. 
Till  the  gate  at  last  creaked  behind  them 
again,  he  preserved  his  bitter  silence,  and 
thought  of  the  pistol  in  the  corner  drawer — 
his  revenge  upon  the  world  that  looked  to 
him  to  make  bricks  without  straw. 

"  And  then  he  turned  her  round  in  the 
path,  and  pointed  to  the  grey  lava  of  dusk 
that  was  blotting  out  every  landmark — 


THE   BORDERLAND  241 

"  '  Look  ! '  he  said.  *  Look  at  it,  and 
ask  why  all  inspiration  is  dried  up  in  me — 
why  I  would  prefer  death  itself  to  this  death- 
in-life  !  ' 

"  But  the  Woman,  passing  on,  only  turned 
a  strange,  maddening  little  smile  up  to  his 
angry  stare. 

"  They  went  in.  She  threw  open  the  door 
of  his  room,  where  the  fire  burned  redly  to 
welcome  him  back  after  his  nameless  ordeal. 
He  strode  toward  it,  and  drew  back  a  little, 
with  an  unconscious  puff-out  of  his  breath ; 
and  threw  off  his  overcoat,  and  drew  back 
farther  still — and  stood  and  looked  at  her, 
his  haggard  face  suddenly  streaked. 

"  '  Why ' 

"  '  Eh  ?  '  she  cried.  '  Eh,  dear  one  ?  * 
The  light  in  her  wide  eyes  danced  behind 
tears  like  leaping  firelight  seen  through  the 
windows  of  a  dark  room.  '  Eh  ?  '  She  flung 
her  arms  around  his  neck.  *  Eh,  husband  ?  ' 
she  cried,  yet  again.     *  Loved  one,  what  is  it  ? ' 

"  And  he  put  up  a  hand  to  his  eyes,  like 
one  blinded  by  a  revelation.  And  his  voice 
choked  in  wonder  and  doubt  and  gratitude 
unspeakable. 

"  *  Why — phew  !  .  .  .  What  does  it  mean  ? 
Open  that  door !.  . .  This — this  isn't  winter ! . . . 
It  is  all  different.  I  can  think — I  can  work — 
I'm  warm  !  ' 

*  r^  *  *  4t 

Q 


242  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  And  so  may  the  mist  of  perversity  fall 
from  the  eyes  of  all  who  continue  to  walk  in 
pitiful  darkness.  And  in  such  manner  may 
the  great  awakening — the  eternal  Light  of 
God's  infinite  wisdom — shine  into   the   void. 

"  Amen  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX 

"  /^OME  in,"  said  Bede  Valjean,  in  his 
V><     panting,  thin  voice.     **  I  know  you. 
Come  in." 

The  portiere  rings  clashed  softly,  travelled 
back  again,  and  John  Laverock  had  entered. 
A  long,  long  time  it  seemed  since  he  had 
stepped  into  the  heated  silence  of  this  room 
— ^noticeably  less  oppressive  to-night,  be- 
cause of  the  chill  sting  in  the  air  outside.  He 
was  pausing.  In  truth,  he  had  feared,  while 
he  longed,  to  look  again  into  the  face  of  the 
man — or  boy — who  sat  among  the  cushions 
there,  the  hair  brushed  back  from  his  alabas- 
ter forehead,  the  velvet  jacket  hiding  his 
frailty,  the  great  dark  eyes  so  softly  search- 
ing, the  curve  of  his  spine  buried  among  the 
cushions. 

"  All  alone  ?  "  John  Laverock  asked. 
It  seemed  he  must  say  something,  however 
superfluous  or  commonplace,  before  he  took 
his  quick  stride  forward. 

"  All  alone,"  Bede  whispered,  watching 
him.  It  was  John  Laverock — and  yet  John 
Laverock  with  a  difference.      *'  Sit  down  ! 

249 


244  THE  BORDERLAND 

Don't  let  the  fact  of  a  blank  month  come 
between  us  for  a  minute !  " 

"Is  it  really  that — a  month  ?  Oh,  don't 
say  so !  " 

He  had  moved  a  chair  so  that  his  back  was 
to  the  light.  It  brought  a  little  smile  flicker- 
ing to  Bede's  lips — lips  that  were  always  on 
the  quiver  as  if  about  to  speak  jestingly. 
Then,  as  the  other's  face  flushed  a  little,  he 
groped  out  his  hand  in  the  old  way. 

"  Only  by  the  almanack,  old  chap  !  There 
it  hangs,  as  the  minister  brought  it.  There 
is  a  text  for  every  day  in  the  year.  I  asked 
him  this  morning  on  what  basis  they  were 
chosen,  and  why  *  Rejoice  merrily '  from 
Solomon's  Song  should  fit  Wednesday,  the 
23rd  of  November,  more  than  any  other  day, 
and  whether  everybody  was  expected  to 
look  at  it  and  begin  rejoicing  irrespective  of 
their  real  feelings.  He  thought  it  a  cynical 
joke  of  mine.  A  good  sort,  he  doesn't  know 
that  a  cynic  is  merely  a  man  who  tells  the 
truth  without  coating  his  pill.  He  reaUy 
loves  truth,  but  I  mustn't  remind  him  that 
his  graveyard  is  a  monument  of  living  lies. 
What  do  you  make  of  such  men,  John  ?  He 
is  an  unconscious  slave  to  habit,  isn't  he  ? — 
like  the  County  Council,  that  gravely  prints 
*  Wash  and  brush  up  '  on  all  its  public  baths 
and  lavatories.  Those  are  the  little  things 
I  have  to  sit  up  here  and  laugh  at  to  myselfi 


THE  BORDERLAND  245 

A  man  brushed  *  up,'  instead  of  down,  would 
be  *  brushed  up '  in  temper,  eh  ?  " 

He  was  talking  at  random  to  clear  the  air 
and  bring  a  smile  ;  but  no  smile  came.  John 
Laverock  did  not  seem  to  have  heard.  He 
had  brought  his  eyes  round  at  last  to  look 
into  Bede's  face,  saw  that  there  was  the 
change  he  had  feared,  and  looked  away  again, 
little  lumps  cHcking  Hke  hailstones  in  his 
throat. 

"  I  was  a  coward,"  he  burst  out  in  the 
pause.  "  What  it  cost  me  to  come,  after 
this  blank,  you  had  better  not  ask." 

"  I  never  meant  to,"  Bede's  small  whisper 
shot  back.  "If  we  all  had  windows  to  our 
souls  most  of  us  would  need  to  keep  the 
blinds  down.  Why  not  you,  at  times  ? 
How  can  you  expect  to  be  an  exception  ?  It 
is  egotism,  old  chap,  if  you  knew  it." 

**  I  shall  not  listen."  He  turned  away. 
"  I  don't  want  to  see  that  side  of  you  to-night. 
I  know  what  my  own  conscience  tells  me 
night  and  day.  I — I  have  no  right  to  try  and 
lead  others  in  the  way  that  I  cannot  keep 
myself  !  " 

"  Sit  still !  "  Bede  begged  strenuously. 
He  had  gone  walking  to  and  fro.  "  What 
can  I  say  ?  What  unnatural  thing  have  you 
done  ?  John  !  Don't  you  know  that  the 
more  you  tell  a  man  he  is  wicked  the  more 
you  flatter  him  nowadays  ?    Man  aHve,  let's 


246  THE  BORDERLAND 

be  honest.  We  would  all  belong  to  the 
'  Smart  Set '  if  we  could — just  as  a  sparrow, 
could  it  think,  would  prefer  to  be  a  peacock 
or  a  bird  of  paradise.  As  a  rule,  we  decry 
the  things  we  cannot  imitate.  Sit  down,  and 
be   calm — be   yourself  !  " 

He  obeyed.  He  gripped  the  thin,  long 
fingers  more  crushingly  than  he  knew,  and 
sank  his  head. 

"  Would  you  believe  me — believe  me — ^if 
I  said  that  I  am — or  have  been — ^living  in 
open  sin  ?  " 

The  laboured  rise  and  fall  of  Bede's  chest 
seemed  to  slacken  for  a  moment — but  only 
for  a  moment.  His  intuition,  so  exquisitely 
developed  that  he  had  to  mask  it  with 
materialistic  jests,  had  told  him  at  a  glance 
of  the  self-accusing  storm  soon  to  break. 

"  Would  I  ?  Why  not  ?  Born  in  sin,  we 
must  live  in  sin  and  die  in  sin.  All  my 
heart  goes  out  to  you,  if  there  is  some  price 
to  pay — ^if  that  is  what  you  came  to  tell  me  !  " 

John  Laverock  sank  his  head  lower  still, 
his  dull  eyes  looking  at  the  fire  opposite.  He 
spoke  in  staccato  notes. 

"  You  shall  judge.  I  have  done  the  thing 
I  thought  most  vile  in  other  men.  I — I  have 
lived  with  a  woman — who  is  not  my  wife." 

In  the  silence  Bede  felt  out  for  his  cigarettes, 
and  smoked,  and  thought,  and  waited. 
Nearer  death  than  life  as  he  was,  he  could  not 


THE   BORDERLAND  247 

focus  the  thing  as  it  Uved  in  the  other  man's 
brain.  All  his  interest  lay  in  the  man  him- 
self. 

"  But  you  have  repented  ? "  he  asked 
quietly.  **  You  have  fallen  back  on  your 
faith  ?    What  then  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer.  Bede  laid  down 
his  cigarette. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said  faintly.  "  I'm 
sorry  for  a  man  who  has  not  the  courage  of 
his  love — or  his  lust — whichever  I  am  to  call  it.' ' 

"  I  have  !  "  It  broke  almost  fiercely.  **  I 
love  her,  as  nobly  and  sinlessly  as  a  man  can 
love  a  woman.  But  I  let  the  sin  come  too  ; 
and  I  never — I  never  thought  I  should  have 
to  feel  the  shame  of  that,  for  her  and  myself 
too !  " 

Hush  !     I  don't  understand,"  Bede  said. 

The    fascination — the    very    irresistibihty 

-of  *  sin '  is  in  proportion  to  the  forbidden 
element  in  it,  I  admit.  But  if  you  are  a 
coward,  all  of  us  are  cowards  to  go  on  '  sin- 
ning '  if  we  admit  the  degradation  of  it. 
But  go  on  !  " 

"  I  can  say  no  more — to-night."  The 
dull  eyes  looked  up  abruptly.  "  I  ought  not 
to  have  told  you.  But — but  I  could  not 
face  you  again  as  a  hypocrite.  I  had  talked 
with  you  so  often  upon  that  very  thing — 
morality " 

"  MoraUty — yes  ?     Merely  the  term  for  a 


248  THE  BORDERLAND 

prudent  code  formulated  by  society  for  its 
own  protection.     Go  on  !  " 

"  I  deserved — and  I  came — to  be  shamed 
and  judged  by  my  own  standard " 

"  Nonsense,"  Bede  gasped,  his  head  mov- 
ing upon  the  cushions.  "  I  won't  have  that. 
What  right  has  any  man  to  judge  another, 
even  in  thought,  unless  he  has  been  in  pre- 
cisely the  other's  position  ?  We  are  not 
capable ;  we  base  our  convictions  upon  im- 
pressions— we  have  a  misleading  relative 
point  of  view  for  nearly  everything.  We 
call  a  glutton  a  beast ;  a  drunkard  is  only 
'  misguided.'  It  is  all  a  topsy-turveydom, 
old  chap — yes  !  The  one  fact  remains  that 
we  are  no  whit  better,  and  no  whit  worse,  in 
our  morals  than  our  progenitors  a  thousand 
years  back.  We  are  all  at  heart  self-cheat- 
ing opportunists.  The  temptation  comes — 
we  succumb.  Some  repent — some  do  not ; 
that  is  the  sole  difference.  This  is  the  point  : 
Did  you — did  you  set  yourself  deliberately 
to  wrong  any  woman  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  " 

"  I  knew  that.  And  if  any  wrong  has  been 
done  unintentionally,  you  will  go  about  to 
put  it  right — at  once — ^like  a  sensible  man  !  " 

"  I  want  to — I  do  love  her — yes  !  " 

**  And  the  revelation  of  it  all  has  swept 
you  off  your  mental  balance.  And  you  have 
been  ill,  too.     Yes,  I  see  it  all.     I  thought 


THE  BORDERLAND  249 

of  you  every  day — every  day  I  wondered. 
Because  I  knew." 

"  You  knew  ?  "  the  other  rattled. 

"  I  knew  that  that  girl  —  Donna  —  had 
come  into  your  life  to  stay ;  perhaps  for  a 
year,  perhaps  for  ever.  You  thought  your- 
self so  strong — in  fact,  you  did  not  apply  the 
ordinary  requirements  of  human  nature  to 
yourself  at  all.  But  a  mere  child  could  have 
read  it  in  your  eyes,  as  you  talked  to  me  of 
her.  She  was  moving  invisibly  with  you, 
night  and  day.  You  were  in  passion's  grip. 
And  it  was  no  more  unnatural  or  shameful 
in  you  than  any  other  human  disease  taking 
you  unawares." 

John  Laverock  had  held  his  breath,  wait- 
ing in  a  curious,  swelling  bitterness  which 
would  not  be  kept  back. 

**  Then,  if  it  was  all  so  plain  to  you,  it 
was  your  friend's  part  to  warn  me  against 
myself.  A  word  from  you  might  have  done 
that.  Your  eyes  were  open ;  and,  as  God 
hears  me,  I  have  been  blind !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  the  other  begged  again.  "  You 
forget.  You  would  have  laughed  in  your 
strength,  as  Goliath  laughed.  And  I  could 
only  see  the  first  flush  of  the  disease.  I 
could  not  tell  how  it  would  end — I  only 
wondered  if  it  would  run  its  normal  course. 
What  are  you  but  a  man  ? — what  is  she  but 
a  woman  ?  " 


250  THE   BORDERLAND 

Over  and  over  again,  in  that  next  strained 
silence,  John  Laverock  looked  at  the  door 
and  made  as  if  to  rise — to  drop  back  again 
and  clap  that  hand  to  his  eyes.  And  then 
— then  with  a  suddenness  almost  unnerving, 
that  choke  had  burst  from  him,  and  others 
followed  in  quick  succession  which  nothing 
could  check.  He  had  drawn  away  ;  Bede's 
hand  could  not  reach  him.  Bede  could  only 
wait,  the  big,  glazed,  dark  eyes  contracted 
in  pain,  a  faint  "  Don't  !  "  leaying  his  lips 
now  and  again.  And  at  last  the  convulsive 
tremors  ceased.  His  voice  came  again,  far 
more  collectedly.  All  the  tension  had  died 
out. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Bede  ;  I'm  sorry.  I  would 
not  have  come  if  I  had  known  I  could  not 
trust  myself.  But  I  had  to  know  what  you 
thought.  I  came  to  tell  you  what  I  would 
not  tell  to  any  other  living  man.  I  am  in 
such  trouble.  I  honestly  want  to  do  the 
right  thing,  and  I  cannot.  It  is  haunting 
me — making  a  different  man  of  me." 

"  Yes,  tell  me  !  "  Bede  said.  "  I  want  to 
know,  but  I  would  not  ask.  You  were  so 
strange — but  that  has  passed  now.  You 
need  not  have  hesitated  a  moment.  You 
know — you  know  that  whatever  is  told  me 
in  this  room,  I  can  never  take  out  of  it." 

"It  is  not  that — no  !  But  it  was  sacred 
— sacred  to  her  and  myself.     I  would  not 


THE   BORDERLAND  251 

have  told  you  her  name.  But  you  knew  it ! 
.  .  .  She  gave  herself  to  me,  in  the  unselfish 
love  that  will  blind  a  woman  to  all  conse- 
quences for  the  man's  sake.  And  I,  the  man, 
the  stronger,  who  should  have  proved  my 
love  by  shielding  her — have  only  shielded 
her  in  name  !  Now  you  know  to  what  I 
have  sunk !  " 

"  Be  calm,"  Bede  breathed.  "  We  shall  see. 
It  could  only  have  happened  because " 

*'  She  was  driven  into  my  arms  ! — she 
could  call  upon  God  to  bear  witness  to  that. 
I  cannot  tell  you  all,  if  I  wished.  I  had 
taken  her  away  from  that  life — that  terrible 
Hoxton  life — without  a  thought  as  to  what 
must  follow.  For  days  I  was  only  swayed 
by  the  one  fear  that  I  might  lose  her  again 
— ^nothing  but  that.  I  made  her  take  my 
help  and  my  money,  because  it  seemed  that 
any  work  she  was  suited  for  must  bring  her 
back  into  contact  with  the  old  associations. 
And  about  it  all  there  seemed  some  deadly 
need  for  secrecy  that  I  cannot  explain.  And 
I  found  I  loved  her  more  each  hour — and  I 
wanted  her  always  near  me — and  I  drugged 
my  own  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  And  it 
is  she  who  must  pay !  " 

"  You  have  temporarily  suspended  your 
work,  then  ?  All  is  at  a  standstill,  of  course  ? 
Then  you  have  only  to  call  upon  yourself  to 
end  it.     What  is  the  stumbling-block  ?  " 


252  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  I — I  am  responsible  for  her  life — her 
happiness — her  whole  future.  She  has  under- 
gone a  change  that — that  at  moments  frightens 
me." 

"  Not  every  man  would  feel  that  responsi- 
bility so  keenly.  She  is  not  a  woman  who 
would  suffer  half  as  deeply  as  you,  the  man, 
might.     Are  you  living  with  her  still  ?  " 

*'  Yes — no — not  in  reality.  I  have  taken 
a  room  for  her.  But  I  cannot  blot  out  the 
facts.  What  must  you  think — after  all  that 
I  have  sat  here  and  said  ?  "  He  clenched 
his  hands  together,  turning  upon  the  seat 
yet  again.  "  What  must  she  think,  however 
much  she  has  come  to  care  for  me  ?  That  I 
wanted  her  for  that  alone  !  " 

"  So  you  did.    So  you  did  !  " 

Bede  paused,  his  head  thrown  back.  A 
single-noted  cough  left  his  lips — short,  and 
sharp,  and  dry — ^like  the  tearing  of  a  new 
calico  sheet.  John  Laverock  had  leaped 
to  his  feet  shakily,  waiting  as  in  fear  of  another 
— waiting  until  the  glazed,  loving,  apologetic 
eyes  slowly  reopened  and  looked  at  him  with 
a  little  smile.     Then  he  sank  back. 

"  Oh,   Bede  !  "  he  said  brokenly. 

"  It's  all  right.  I  don't  often  cough  now. 
You  haven't  upset  me — only  yourself !  I 
shan't  laugh — I  shan't  sneer ;  but  I  won't 
let  you  cheat  yourself  any  longer.  You 
wanted  her,  however  unconsciously,  for  the 


THE  BORDERLAND  253 

reason  that  Nature  implanted  in  every  man  ; 
and  religious  or  any  other  form  of  scruple 
go  down  before  that  reason.  What  you 
really  dread  is,  not  the  fact,  but  the  conse- 
quences. You  want  to  break  loose  from  a 
temporary  spell  that  threatens  to  paralyse 
your  energies — that  leaves  you  in  the  posi- 
tion of  the  hypocrite,  as  you  call  it.  Then, 
the  way  to  do  a  thing  is — to  do  it.    End  it !  " 

"  I  can't,"  he  said,  his  eyes  hopeless,  but 
his  voice  dogged.  **  I  have  no  wish  to.  I 
tell  you  that  I  love  her — I  want  her — al- 
ways.    Now  do   you  understand  ?  " 

And  Bede's  eyes  looked  back  at  him  with 
a  fixed,  wistful  wonder  for  a  long  time. 

"I  don't,"  Bede  whispered.  "Nothing 
except  this  :  what  a  happy  man  you  must 
be — what  a  farce  all  this  talk  has  been  ! 
You  want  her  always — and  you  have  got 
her !  " 

"  In  secret !  "  he  said,  the  voice  gone  al- 
most to  nothing.  "  Not  as  it  should  be. 
In  secret  !  " 

"  What  of  that  ?  Will  you  realize  !  Love 
— or  lust — always  is,  in  its  very  essence, 
secret  until  it  palls.  It  walks  alone,  apart 
from  the  world's  eyes,  conscious  of  the  for- 
bidden element.  The  public  marriage — the 
legal  tie — ^is  only  a  concession  to  convention- 
ality ;  a  publicity  of  that  which  is  essentially 
private.    The    act    of    marriage    never    yet 


254  THE   BORDERLAND 

solemnized  any  understanding  between  a 
man  and  a  woman — never  yet  made  it  the 
more  binding.  The  inherently  bad  or  un- 
faithful man  would  be  bad  or  unfaithful 
whether-  the  compact  were  legalised  or  not. 
Who  knows  better  than  you  that  half  of  the 
civilized  world  out  there  clanks  its  fetters 
in  daily  misery  because  it  cannot  free  itself 
from  the  bad  or  unfaithful  partner  ?  If  you 
love  her,  and  act  honestly  by  her,  the  mechani- 
cal blessing  of  a  paid  priest  is  not  something 
that  will  make  or  mar  your  dual  destinies. 
No  !  If  it  were,  you  would  make  her  your 
legal  mate  at  once." 

"  That  is  my  trouble,"  John  Laverock 
said.  He  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  the 
rest.  "  That  is  my  trouble  to-night.  She 
refuses  to  hear  of  becoming  my  wife." 

"  Refuses  ?  Because  she  is  Donna — and 
you  are  John  Laverock  ?  You  have  actu- 
ally asked  her  to  take  your  name  and  become 
one  with  you  in  everything  ?  " 

"  I  have.  She  has  given  herself  to  me,  to 
prove  her  affection,  as  she  believes.  And  I, 
as  a  man,  would  not  hesitate  to  give  her  the 
surest  and  only  proof  of  mine.  And  she  will 
not !  She  forgets  that  I  have  ruined  her 
life  ;   she  fears  that  she  may  ruin  mine  !  " 

He  was  upon  his  feet,  standing  very  still 
save  for  the  tremor.  There  was  a  long 
silence,  disturbed  only  by  the  sinking-in  of 


THE   BORDERLAND  255 

the  coals  and  by  the  far-away  rattle  beneath 
Bede's  velvet  jacket. 

*'  You  are  going  ?  "  Bede  asked  wistfully 
at  last.     "  Going  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  I  must.  There  is  no  other  way.  I  am 
going  back  along  the  streets  with  the  know- 
ledge— the  sure  knowledge — that  if  people 
knew  all  they  would  point  the  finger  of  scorn 
at  me.  I  must  live  on  in  sin — or  I  must  let 
her  go  !  " 

"  She  knows  that  ?  You  have  made  her 
see  it  in  that  hght  ?  " 

"  On  my  knees !  On  my  knees,  Bede, 
with  my  arms  around  her  neck !  Once  she 
had  almost  given  way,  and  the  tears  came. 
And  then  she  laughed — to  make  it  easier 
for  me !  I  knew.  She  saw  the  sudden 
picture  :  she  saw  herself  walking  along  those 
streets  with  me  as  my  wife.  She  could 
do  it — face  them  proudly — even  Hoxton  ; 
but  she  thought  of  me,  and  she  laughed. 
And — and  if  I  speak  of  that  again  I  may 
lose  her.  She  thinks  I  am  offering  the  great- 
est sacrifice  ;  whereas,  as  God  hears  me,  I 
want  to  do  right — I  love  her — oh,  only  God 
knows  what  a  mist  is  about  me  !  " 

He  strode  suddenly,  stumblingly,  for  the 
door,  his  hand  out,  as  if  the  air  of  that  room 
could  not  be  borne  another  moment. 

"  Good-bye  !  "  Bede's  panting  little  cry 
came   after   him.      "  Good-bye  !  "    it   came 


256  THE  BORDERLAND 

again,  on  a  strenuous,  faltering  note.  He 
heard  it — he  was  to  remember  it  all  through 
his  life — but  he  did  not  turn.  And  now  the 
curtain-rings  had  clashed,  and  the  door  closed 
hurriedly  behind  him,  as  upon  a  man  who 
had  kept  back  a  groan  or  a  shudder  until 
that  moment. 

From  Bede  was  shut  out  eternally  all 
sound  or  knowledge  of  what  awaited  him  on 
the  outer  side  of  it. 


CHAPTER   XX 

A  WOMAN  had  drawn  back  quickly. 
Her  hand  grasped  the  balustrade, 
one  foot  was  upon  the  first  stair  of  the  flight 
leading  upward.  He  was  in  time  to  hear  a 
long,  quivering  breath  escape  her,  and  then 
she  stood  as  coldly  still  as  himself.  It  was 
Miss  Valjean. 

His  own  figure  was  in  the  full  light  from 
the  hall  below ;  hers  was  entirely  in  shadow. 
Yet  he  could  seem  to  feel  that  the  whole  of 
her  graceful,  dainty  shape,  gowned  so  deli- 
cately that  the  cloth  covering  seemed  to  fit 
her  like  a  third  skin,  had  just  now  an  invis- 
ible armour  of  stiffened  muscles  and  fibres. 
She  had  only  waited. 

She  would  not  speak,  except  with  her  eyes. 
She  took  advantage  of  her  sex,  knowing  that 
her  mere  attitude  dared  him  to  pass  on  in 
silence.  At  bay  herself,  she  could  make  him 
feel  that  he  was  the  one  at  bay. 

"  Well  ? "  He  had  completely  nerved 
himself  in  that  instant  of  realization.  He 
sent  his  voice  down  to  that  penetrating  soft- 
ness only  so  that  Bede  should  never  hear. 

267  R 


258  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  Well  ?  "  she  repeated,  the  same  merciful 
instinct  compelling  her. 

He  should  not  have  all  the  dignity  and 
self-control !  He  should  not  divine  that  she 
tingled  with  a  hunger-like  craving  to  drive 
her  hand  into  his  set  face  again  and  again, 
and  scream,  and  then  make  him  silence  her 
sounds  with  his  kisses  ! 

"  Did  the  end  justify  the  means  ? — that 
is  all  I  need  ask,"  he  said,  so  ominously 
stern,  sad  and  composed  that  the  last  shred 
of  hope  should  have  died  within  her — as, 
maybe,  it  died. 

"  Yes  !  yes,  yes  !  "  she  whispered  it  thrice, 
drawing  a  breath  between  each  vehement 
syllable. 

"  Very  well.  Then  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said  ?  " 

"  Nothing  !  You  can  go.  And,  of  course, 
you  could  never  show  your  face  here  again." 

He  winced,  and  drew  in  his  lips.  He  was 
stung  to  the  depths,  she  could  see.  He  had 
tried  to  smile  as  in  contempt  for  her  methods, 
but  he  had  to  look  away  with  miserable, 
gloomy  eyes.  For  a  minute  she  had  him 
pilloried  against  the  door  there,  without  a 
word  in  self-defence,  his  face  a  haggard  be- 
trayal of  the  mind  within.  Then  he  came 
to  himself,  and  looked  steadily  back  at  her. 

"  Yes,  I  know  exactly  what  it  means,  Miss 
Valjean.     Just  this  :    If  you  felt  you  must 


THE  BORDERLAND  259 

let  me  know  how  low  I  have  fallen  in  your 
estimation,  you  might  have  said  it  downstairs 
— not  here." 

"  He  knows.  Knows  quite  enough  !  "  she 
flashed  back,  with  bitter  tranquillity.  "  Be- 
ing a  man,  he  saw  no  wrong  in  a  mere  woman's 
ruin — none  !  " 

"  Being  a  man,  it  might  wound  him  to 
know  that  another  woman  had  listened  to 
find  that  out." 

"  You  can  tell  him — you  are  quite  equal 
to  it.  You  can  tell  him  that  I  sank  my 
womanliness  for  a  moment — ^long  enough  to 
know  that  the  man  in  there  with  him  had 
sunk  his  manliness  for  all  time  !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  wrong,"  he  answered. 
It  was  all  uttered  as  between  two  persons  on 
the  threshold  of  a  sacred  place.  "  You  are 
speaking  in  passion.  Even  if  you  do  not 
understand,  it  is  not  a  woman's  way  to  make 
a  man  feel  he  is  vile  beyond  hope." 

"  You  glory  in  it,  no  doubt.  No  doubt ! 
I  understand  that.  The  contrition  you  ex- 
pressed is  the  sop  thrown  to  your  conscience. 
The  fact  that  your  end  was  achieved  while 
you  masqueraded  as  a  man  with  a  mission 
can  soon  be  forgotten.  What  remains  ? 
Only  the  woman  !  You  meant  to  redeem 
her.     You  have  redeemed  her — by  '  love  '  !  " 

"  Silence  !  "  John  Laverock  said,  taking 
a  step,  his  arms  drawn  up.    And  she  shrank 


26o  THE   BORDERLAND 

a  stair  higher.  She  was  frightened  of  him 
in  that  moment  while  he  stood  listening,  his 
grey  eyes  looking  beyond  her,  his  tall,  strong, 
capable  figure  embodying  her  lifelong  ideal 
of  a  man's  physical  and  mental  form.  He 
seemed  about  to  take  one  more  step,  and 
shake  her  in  his  grasp.  And  she  would 
submit  ! 

But  he  only  raised  his  hand,  pointing  to 
the  door  behind. 

"  Did  you  speak  of  shame  ?  Where  is 
your  own  ?     You  have  listened  here  before." 

"  Once  !  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  Yes 
— once." 

"  Why  ?  " 

Miss  Valj  can's  shapely  fingers  twisted  on 
the  balustrade.  Her  face,  turned  away, 
worked  enigmatically  for  a  moment.  She 
had  a  sweet,  arch  voice  that  seldom  varied 
in  its  modulations,  but  now  it  was  strained 
with  that  heart-swelling  at  her  corsage 
which  she  would  have  given  years  of  her 
life]  to  be  able  to  stifle.  The  delicately- 
true  fit  of  that  corsage  seemed  to  be  suffo- 
cating her. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  gasped  slowly.  "  Perhaps 
I  wanted  to  believe  in  you — to  know  that  you 
were  what  you  wished  the  world  to  think 
you.  Or  perhaps  I  only  wished  to  know 
what  men  talk  about  when  they  are  alone — 
when   there   is   no   artificial   restraint   upon 


THE  BORDERLAND  261 

their  one  theme.  That  would  be  nearer  the 
mark,  in  your  estimation,  would  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  incapable,  then,  of  imagining  any 
woman  to  be  as  pure  in  heart  as  pure  in  face  ?  " 

"  That — that  I  do  not  know.  It  is  simply 
that  I  shall  never  again  believe  in  any  man 
— that  I  shall  always  know  now  that  the  best 
of  us  are  at  heart  as  bad  as  the  worst.  But 
nothing  matters  now." 

"  Nothing  ever  mattered  !  "  he  said,  with 
the  blunt  directness  that  now  and  then  was 
stirred  up  in  him. 

"  No — o — o  !  "  It  was  a  weak,  trailing 
Httle  laugh.     "  No— 0—0  !  " 

He  stood  looking  up  at  her,  his  mouth  hard, 
his  eyes  aflame  and  yet  troubled — as  if  un- 
certain whether  to  reach  out  for  her  hand 
or  whether  to  take  her  at  her  word  and  walk 
from  the  house.  Then  his  fingers  sHd  a  little 
way  up  the  balustrade  towards  hers. 

"  AUce  !  "  he  said,  ever  so  quietly.  "  Alice  ! 
— I  am  going  to  call  you  that  once  again,  if 
only  because  you  are  Bede's  sister.  What 
has  been  done  can  never  be  undone.  I  am 
not  going  to  make  any  lame  attempt  to  put 
myself  right  in  your  eyes  ;  perhaps  it  is  true, 
as  you  say,  that  if  all  our  secret  thoughts  and 
talk  could  be  read  and  overheard  we  should 
all  shrink  from  each  other.  But  will  you 
come  downstairs  for  one  minute  and  hear 
what  I  have  to  say  ?  " 


262  THE  BORDERLAND 

He  waited  for  no  answer.  If  he  had  done 
so,  there  was  but  one  answer  she  could 
have  given — *'  No  !  "  Reaching  the  hall  he 
stood  back,  and  she  swept  past  him  into  the 
drawing-room,  her  pose  regal,  her  face  death- 
pale,  the  swish  of  her  skirts  like  that  of  the 
wind  through  dry  grasses. 

He  followed.  Their  feet  made  no  sound 
on  the  thick  carpet.  The  door  swung  to 
behind  them.  There  was  no  light,  and  no 
movement  of  her  arm  toward  the  chandelier. 
He  could  not  tell  for  an  instant  exactly  how 
near  he  was  to  her.  And  then,  when  her 
voice  came,  he  fathomed  that  she  preferred 
the  darkness,  because  it  hid  her  face,  and 
because  in  some  mysterious  way  it  enabled 
her  to  speak  with  an  icy  contempt,  whether 
she  felt  it  or  not. 

"  One    minute,  Mr.  Laverock,  you   said." 

"  I  did.    I " 

He  paused,  looking  toward  the  voice. 
All  the  words  that  had  gathered  in  his  throat 
on  the  landing  were  gone  now.  He  asked 
himself  why  Bede's  pooh-poohing  sympathy 
with  his  moral  lapse  should  have  unnerved 
him  to  the  point  of  sobs,  while  her  just, 
scathing  bitterness  stiffened  him  with  a  sense 
of  defiance  and  resentment.  Was  it  merely 
because  the  sting  of  degradation  in  a  woman's 
eyes  went  so  much  more  deep  ? 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  he  found  himself  say- 


THE  BORDERLAND  263 

ing  huskily.  He  strode  forward.  "  Miss 
Valjean,  I  can't  bear  this — I  won't — Hfe  is 
too  short  for  angry  words  that  mean  estrange- 
ment.    Where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  !  But  don't  touch  me  —  don't 
touch  me  !  " 

"  I  will !  I  have  done  nothing  that  I 
stand  ashamed  of — there,  no  !  If  I  had,  it 
is  a  woman's  part  to  forgive,  if  she  cannot 
forget.  You  think  fit  to  forbid  me  the  house, 
but  while  Bede  wants  me " 

"  It  is  my  house — not  Bede's."  She  was 
moving  backwards  round  and  round  the 
circular  oak  table  between  them.  "  It  is  my 
house,  held  in  trust  for  my  brother  Louis. 
If  I  cannot  forbid  you,  your  own  shame  shall. 
If  you  can  go  on  with  your  work  of  redemp- 
tion in  Hoxton,  there  should  walk  with  you 
the  knowledge  that  you  are  a  whited  sepul- 
chre— preaching  purity  in  the  open  and 
practising  the  reverse  in  secret.  You  came 
here — yes,  you  came  here  to  sit  with  a  sick 
man,  to  talk  to  him  of  his  soul — and  all  the 
while " 

With  a  little  throat  rattle,  goaded  by  the 
insistent  vehemence  that  stabbed  him  through 
the  darkness,  he  took  a  quick  leap  and  caught 
her  wrists.  ...  He  was  to  let  them  fall 
again  in  the  same  instant,  with  a  shudder 
that  left  its  mark  upon  him. 

Maybe  a  thrill  of  actual  fear  had  taken  her 


264  THE  BORDERLAND 

at  the  contact.  Maybe  it  was  the  culminat- 
ing point  when  her  wounded  pride  must  find 
its  vent  in  words  that  should  revenge  for 
all. 

"  You  dare !  "  She  had  given  a  warm 
little  laugh,  that  died  into  a  thin  whimper. 
"  You  dare  to  touch  me  with  those  hands  ! 
Go  back  to  her — your  Donna  !  Go  back  to 
your  harlot — to  the  love  bought  with  your 
money  !  " 

*'  O  God !  "  the  man  said  in  a  hushed 
voice,  scarcely  knowing  it. 

There  fell  a  silence,  broken  only  by  that 
heaving  sound  of  her  breast  across  the  table. 

"  O  God !  "  he  said  again,  as  to  himself. 

He  stood  a  little  longer,  quite  motionless  ; 
and  then  intuition  seemed  to  tell  her  that  all 
was  over — that  he  was  moving  slowly  for  the 
door. 

*'  Come  back !  "  she  said  breathlessly. 
''  I— I— don't  go  yet !     Let  me " 

"It  is  too  late,"  his  expressionless  voice 
came  back.  "  You  have  said  it.  You  have 
shown  me  what  you  truly  think." 

"  Not — not  of  you  !  You  are  only  a  man 
— whom  a  good  woman  could  have  helped — 
and  been  proud  of  !  But  she — she — a  vile, 
shameless  thing,  reared  in  the  slums,  with 
only  the  fascination  of  her  own  reckless 
bravado — she  has  dragged  you  down  and 
scored  over  all  the  women  worthy — worthy 


THE  BORDERLAND  265 

of  a  man's  affection.  She — an  animal — has 
made  of  you " 

"  Yes,  pause,"  he  said,  in  the  same  dull 
way.  "  It  is  not  me  you  are  hurting  now ;  it 
is  the  woman  I  hope  to  make  my  wife " 

"  Your  wife  ? "  came  the  muffled  cry. 
"  Wife  !  " 

"  My  wife.  It  may  never  be  ;  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  have  done,  unknown  to  her 
— in  the  hope  that  it  may  be.  I  have  pub- 
lished the  banns  of  our  marriage — my  marri- 
age with  Donna  Bohannan.  I  have  done  that ! " 

"  Your  wife  !  Wife  !  A  girl  of  the  streets 
— oh,  heaven,  spare  me — ^spare  us  that  in- 
dignity !  His  wife  !  "  It  trailed  away  into 
the  series  of  warm,  wild  little  sounds,  half 
laugh,  half  sob,  as  she  bent  her  head  down 
upon  the  table.  She  suddenly  lifted  herself, 
her  head  thrown  back  in  superb  irony,  her 
breast  swelling,  her  finger  pointed — all  crys- 
tal-clear to  his  intuition  in  the  darkness. 
"  Tell  me  when  !  Tell  me  when  your  mar- 
riage takes  place  !  Let  me  be  at  the  church, 
to  see  with  my  own  eyes  this  travesty  of 
romance — let  me  look  at  her  again,  to  see 
what  could  blind  a  sane  man  and  drag  him 
down  to  the  gutter-level  in  that  manner  ! 
But  I  forgot !  you  love  her.  You  have  lived 
with  her  already,  as  man  and  wife.  In  God's 
eyes,  as  Bede  says,  you  are  man  and  wife  at 
this  moment !  " 


266  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  not  stirring.  "  Such  is  my 
bUndness  that  I  mean,  if  only  possible,  to 
lift  her  to  the  level  at  which  no  one  can  cast 
a  stone  at  her  or  at  myself.  And  such  is  her 
love — her  wilHngness  to  efface  herself  on  my 
account — that  I  cannot  bring  her  to  take 
my  name  ;  because,  as  you  would  point  out 
to  her,  such  a  marriage  might  *  drag  me 
down,'  That  you  did  not  hear  me  tell  your 
brother.     But  you  hear  it  now." 

"It  is,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  the  very 
smallest  remnant  of  womanly  sense  I  should 
expect  in  her.  She  knows — she  knows  any 
such  thing  is  impossible.  She  knows  herself 
as  you  do  not  know  her.  The  very  sordid 
stamp  of  Hoxton — of  hell  itself — is  upon  the 
fact  that  you,  a  man  pledged  to  God  to  lift 
others  from  their  weaknesses,  are  yourself 
upon  the  knees  of  a  Delilah.  Oh,  think  of 
it — you  !  "  There  was  that  sound  again  in 
her  throat  as  of  impending  strangulation. 

And  the  man  was  mute.  She  had  put  her 
finger  upon  the  raw  wound.  He  could  not 
justify  himself  in  the  sight  of  the  world. 
And  by  the  world  a  man  is  judged  ;  and 
upon  that  judgment  hinges  all  a  man's 
influence  for  good  or  for  evil  in  this  world. 

"  Yes,  go,"  Miss  Valjean  said,  in  a  voice 
pityingly  chill.  "  Back  to  her,  if  you  will — 
if  you  must.  Back  to  your  own  senses,  if 
you  are  wise — if  you  have  still  the  instincts 


THE  BORDERLAND  267 

of  the  gentleman  we  thought  you.  Realize 
that,  no  longer  able  to  help  yourself,  you  are 
no  longer  able  to  help  others  ;  and  that  the 
discovery  of  that  fact  will  be  another  weapon 
for  the  scoffers.  .  .  .  I — I  take  back  all 
else  I  have  said.  I — I  would  not  wound  you, 
but — oh,  I  would  save  you  from  that — even 
as  she  would  !  " 

There  was  a  little  bump.  She  had  slid 
down  upon  her  knees,  her  forehead  against 
the  table.  In  a  whirl,  yet  moved  to  a  degree 
almost  beyond  bearing,  the  man  held  his 
breath  a  moment  more.  Then  he  craned 
toward  her,  his  voice  entirely  changed. 

"  If  it  is  to  be  the  last  time,  as  it  must  be, 
I  cannot  go  until  ...  I  mean,  I  am  man 
enough  still  to  wish  to  thank  you  for  coming 
to  me  in  my  illness  as  you  did — that  day — 
when  it  must  have  seemed  to  you  there  was 
no  gratitude  in  me.  I  do — I  do  thank  you 
for  all !  " 

There  was  no  answer,  save  a  tremble  that 
he  could  feel,  rather  than  see.  He  stole  out. 
There  was  a  coldness  in  his  limbs.  He  looked 
along  the  passage,  as  if  in  guilty  fear  that  it 
might  have  been  overheard.  Then  the 
street  door  clicked  as  quietly  as  possible 
behind  him. 

A  moment  more — perhaps  two — and  it  had 
clicked  in  just  the  same  way  behind  Miss 
Valjean. 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE  house  near  the  church  was  left 
behind. 

The  man  walked  steadily,  his  head  now 
thrown  back,  his  stride  decisive.  He  was 
not  thinking  ;  he  was  looking  mechanically 
straight  out  before  him,  as  though  resolved  to 
think  no  longer.  Above  him  the  clear,  cold, 
starry  heaven  lay  like  a  black  mantle  pow- 
dered with  silver  sequins.  There  was  keen  frost 
in  the  air,  and  his  every  step  drew  a  rhythmical 
ring  from  the  pavement.  He  looked  not 
once  either  to  right  or  left — or  to  the  rear. 

Reaching  De  Beauvoir  Road,  his  home- 
ward way  lay  down  the  turning  that  faced 
him.  Instead,  he  wheeled  to  the  right  to- 
ward Balls  Pond,  and  then  to  the  left.  There 
was  no  uncertainty  in  his  turns.  He  moved 
as  though  he  could  have  taken  that  way 
blindfolded. 

It  was  a  long  peaceful  street,  of  small,  old- 
fashioned  houses  with  green  balconies,  side- 
walks and  quaint  angles  mocked  by  the 
modern  builder  of  bubble  residences.  He 
came  to  a  dead  stop  by  a  lamp,  and  looked 


THE  BORDERLAND  269 

up  at  a  window  above  the  ground  floor.  He 
seemed  to  make  no  sound  or  sign,  but  a  blind 
up  there  moved.  He  waited  a  moment,  his 
congealing  breath  forming  a  little  halo  in  the 
lampUght.  Then  he  walked  forward.  The 
door  had  opened.  Two  arms  were  put  up 
around  his  neck,  drawing  his  head  down,  in 
perfect  silence,  as  it  seemed.  Then  the  door 
closed,  and  he  was  within. 

From  the  opposite  pavement,  plain  to  be 
seen  if  that  blind  moved  again,  Miss  Valjean 
watched  in  a  sort  of  stupor  that  was  almost 
a  suspension  of  life.  The  cloak  around  her 
shoulders  was  still  unfastened ;  she  held  the 
lapels  together  with  one  ungloved  hand. 

This  was  the  shadowy  auditorium.  She 
seemed  to  be  watching  for  the  next  rising  of 
a  curtain — spectator  of  some  play  of  which 
she,  and  she  alone,  had  grasped  the  true  in- 
ward significance.  The  very  silence  of  the 
acting  was  its  fascination.  She  had  seen 
two  shapes  faintly  silhouetted  upon  the 
bUnd — the  shapes  of  the  man  and  the  wo- 
man. 

They  flickered  away.  There  was  a  blank 
spell,  in  which  sick  thrill  after  thrill  passed 
down  her  stiff  figure. 

Some  people  went  by,  and  she  knew  that 
they  had  paused  to  stare  back.  A  hand 
wavered  up  to  her  face,  as  to  shield  it ;  but 
she  could  do   no   more  ;    and  they  went  'on, 


270  THE  BORDERLAND 

speculating  audibly.  They  had  had  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  figure  of  Lot's  wife — looking 
back — ^immovable  evermore.  But  Tragedy 
flits  through  one's  focus  so  often  in  London 
streets  that  it  becomes  commonplace. 

Perhaps  half  an  hour  had  ticked  by.  She 
would  never  be  sure  ;  she  had  utterly  lost 
count  of  time.  Then  all  her  deadened 
faculties  twitched,  and  the  sick  wave  took 
her  again.  That  door  had  re-opened  sud- 
denly. The  man  was  going.  The  two  arms 
drew  down  his  head  ;  his  lips  moved  along 
as  though  silently  caressing  an  upturned 
forehead.  And  then,  with  a  glance  at  his 
watch,  he  was  striding  away. 

Miss  Valjean  looked  after  him,  quick  little 
breaths  shaking  her.  Till  the  last  ring  of  his 
footsteps  had  died  she  bore  her  mental  tra- 
vail. A  moment  more,  and  she  was  lifting 
her  hand  to  knock  at  that  door. 

She  heard  the  step  on  the  stairs.  She 
could  have  seen  through  the  glass  panels, 
but  she  would  not  look.  A  mute,  funereal 
figure,  she  stood  until  the  door  was  wide  open. 
Then  she  faced  slowly  round,  with  no  word 
— only  the  fixed  gaze.  Very  tightly  her  cloak 
was  held  about  her. 

"  It's  Miss  Valjean,"  Amber  Lou  said,  as 
to  herself.  The  silence  had  appeared  to  last 
indefinitely.  She  seemed  to  swallow  a  little 
obstruction  in  her  throat,  and  then  her  voice 


THE  BORDERLAND  271 

was  quite  cool.  "  You  are  welcome,"  she 
said.     "  You  need  not  stand  like  that." 

**  Am  I  ?  "  Miss  Valjean  replied,  in  a  thin, 
frozen  whisper.  "  If  you  live  to  see  the  end 
of  the  world  you  will  never  think  of  a  greater 
he  than  that." 

Just  the  pause,  and  then — 

"  Very  well,  then.  I'll  tell  the  truth,  and 
shut  the  door." 

It  was  closing.  Just  in  time  Miss  Valjean's 
hand  shot  out. 

"  Will  you  ?  Oh,  no  !  Where  a  Christian 
gentleman  has  been  I  need  not  be  afraid  to 
venture.  .  .  .  Thank  you  !  Now  you  can 
close  it." 

They  faced.  Miss  Valjean  had  the  advan- 
tage in  height  and  pedigree,  but  in  nothing 
more.  Amber  Lou,  dressed  quietly  in  black, 
and  with  the  fair  hair  smoothed  back  Madon- 
na-wise from  her  small  oval  face,  stood  with 
a  far-away  smile  in  the  blue  eyes — simply 
waiting,  and  conscious  of  no  fear.  It  was 
the  same  girl — yet  not  the  same  girl.  How 
Miss  Valjean  looked  at  her — how  she  could 
bear  the  look  without  even  flinching — were 
two  things  never  to  be  explained. 

"  You  are  alone  in  the  house  ?  "  Miss  Val- 
jean asked  at  last.  Her  voice  cracked  a 
little  ;  she  was  struggling  for  great  calmness 
at  any  cost. 

*'  Yes — to-night — ^just     as     it     happens," 


272  THE   BORDERLAND 

was  the  absent  reply.  "  Perhaps  you  will 
come  to  my  room  ?  '* 

She  went  quietly  up.  With  a  bursting 
heart,  a  feeling  akin  to  madness,  Miss  Valjean 
followed.     Her    room !     His    room ! 

And  there  it  was.  Amber  Lou  held  back 
the  door,  and  then  drew  forward  a  chair. 
She  did  not  see  it.  She  halted  as  in  a  trance, 
looking  round.  It  was  neat  and  comfortable 
— ^like  any  other  room.  A  fire  burned,  and 
a  little  copper  kettle  "  sang  "  on  the  hob. 
There  were  books  upon  the  table  that  held 
the  shaded  lamp.  There  was  a  white  bed 
partially  curtained  off  in  the  corner.  All 
was  ordinarily  material,  and  yet — and  yet — 
the  mystery  of  the  man's  sex  and  soul  breathed 
in  this  small  space.  There  was  a  dual  posses- 
sion. Miss  Valjean  stood,  the  rigid  fingers 
clutching  the  ends  of  her  cloak. 

"  Oh  heaven  !  "  she  said,  twice,  with  a 
little  moan  wrung  out.     "  Oh  heaven  !  " 

And  then  she  knew  that  Amber  Lou  had 
walked  past  her  and  sat  down  upon  a  stool, 
looking  into  the  fire — her  lips  strangely  set, 
but  her  eyes  still  apparently  smiling  as  at 
something  no  one  else  could  see. 

"  You  vile  thing  !  "  Miss  Valj  can's  strain- 
ing cry  suddenly  filled  the  room.  "  Stand 
up  !     If  you  are  a  woman  I  am  not  one  !  " 

With  just  a  little  tremble  Amber  Lou 
looked  round  at  her.    The  smile  had  gone. 


THE   BORDERLAND  273 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand.  It  was 
done  slowly.  It  all  testified  to  the  inward 
ecstasy — the  complete  absorption  of  her 
mind — that^left  her  impervious  even  to  a  blow. 

"  Stand  up  !  "  Miss  Valjean  repeated,  in 
a  manner  not  to  be  resisted.  And  she  obeyed, 
her  hands  folded  together.  "  What — what 
is  he  to  you  ?  " 

"  You  seem  to  know,"  said  the  low,  level 
voice. 

"  Answer  me  !  " 

"  He's  everything." 

Miss  Valjean  took  a  step,  bending  her 
body. 

"  He  comes  here — he  comes  here  every 
night  of  his  life.     You  deny  that  ?  " 

And  the  blue  eyes  looked  at  her,  and  away 
again. 

"No.  I  wish  he  could.  It's  his  place — 
if  he  wants  me." 

"  Wants  you  ?  "  was  repeated,  with  slow 
awe.  "  You  can  stand  there  and  say  this 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  because  I  knew  what  you  had  come 
to  say  to  me.  And  it's  no  use.  Nothing  can 
alter  it.     If  I  could  not,  you  cannot." 

"  Alter  it  ?  You  are  only  a  child.  You 
have  no  right  to — to  any  man's  love  or  pro- 
tection. You  have  drawn  him  into  this 
shameful  position  to — to  ruin  him." 

"  Ask  him,"   Amber  Lou  said,   her  foot 

s 


274  THE   BORDERLAND 

tapping  a  little.  With  just  the  same  abstract 
calm  she  looked  around,  and  added  :  "  You 
can't ;  he's  not  here,  is  he  ?  I'll  tell  you, 
if  you  wish.  He  comes  to  me  every  day,  if 
only  for  a  little  while,  and  I  hold  him  in  my 
arms,  and  he's  happy,  and  that's  all  I  care 
for  in  the  whole  wide  world.  If  he  killed 
me  to-night  I  should  still  love  him.  So  you 
don't  think  it's  any  use  trying  to  come  be- 
tween us  ?  " 

It  was  horror  that  held  Miss  Valjean  so 
still.  She  had  no  answer ;  none  seemed 
possible.  In  those  few  simple  words  the 
girl  had  stripped  away  all  the  mystery  ;  yet, 
in  all  her  conceptions  of  the  depths  of  human 
passion  none  had  ever  seemed  so  deep  and 
vast  as  this.  This  frail  sHp  of  a  girl  held 
him  body  and  soul,  and  only  lived  from  day 
to  day  for  the  hour  of  his  coming.  And  yet 
the  world  around  went  on  as  though  nothing 
had    happened. 

Sweep  from  the  polluted  room,  with  one 
swish  of  her  skirts  ?  No,  she  would  not — 
could  not.  She  must  look  into  this  woman's 
face  yet  a  little  longer  :  look  until  she  saw 
what  there  was  in  it  that  she  herself  did  not 
possess.  The  man  had  passed  her  by,  and 
given  cdl  his  strength,  all  his  devotion,  aU  his 
being,  into  the  power  of  this  girl.  He  had 
held  her,  and  kissed  her,  within  those  last 
few  minutes. 


THE  BORDERLAND  275 

Miss  Valjean  felt  out  for  the  chair,  although 
she  had  determined  never  to  come  into  con- 
tact with  it.  Afterwards  she  reaUzed  that 
she  must  have  been  near  a  swoon,  because 
she  found  Amber  Lou  standing  over  her,  and 
her  forehead  being  softly  dabbed  with  a 
damp  handkerchief.  Up  into  the  turquoise, 
serene  eyes  she  stared. 

"  Better  ?  "  Amber  Lou  asked.  ''  I'll  do 
anything  for  you  that  you  need,  but  you 
mustn't  try  to  make  me  out  bad  in  his  eyes. 
I  don't  mind,  but  he  would.  You  can't  say 
I  have  not  thought  it  all  out,  and  when  you 
talk  of  disgrace  you  only  mean  I  am  stand- 
ing in  the  shoes  some  other  woman  ought  to 
wear.  I  cannot  help  that,  can  I  ?  All  I 
can  tell  you  is,  that  you  can't  take  him  from 
me — at  least,  not  unless  I  knew  he  wished 
it." 

"  Not  although  you  know  you  have  ruined 
him  ?  "  came  up  faintly.  "  Yes  !  "  She 
struggled  to  her  feet.  "  Every  kiss  he  has 
given  you  is  unholy,  and  he  knows  it  well — 
although  he  cannot  expect  you  to  know  it. 
From — from  beginning  to  end,  it  is  impure  !  " 

"  Then  all  the  world's  impure,  at  that 
rate  ?  " 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  in  that  calm  way ! 
Don't  come  near  me — I  want  to  respect  my- 
self !  You  know  just  what  I  mean ;  you 
have  mind  enough  of  your  own,  and  to  spare  ! 


276  THE   BORDERLAND 

Even  if  there  were  no  wrong  in  such  a  Hfe  as 
he  is  leading,  you,  as  the  woman,  can  think  ! 
What — what  if  a  child  was  born  to  you " 

"I'd  love  it."  Amber  Lou  put  her  hands 
together  tightly.  "  You  don't  understand 
a  bit.  Anything  of  his  I  should  love.  All 
you  say  to  me  makes  no  difference.  You 
don't — you  can't  know  what  it  is  to  begin 
a  new  life  like  mine.  If  you  did — ^if  you  did, 
you  couldn't  come  to  me  and  say  such  things. 
They  all  sound  so  silly.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid 
of  any  one  or  anything.  I  needn't  say  a  word. 
He'll  put  his  arms  round  me  and  answer  for 
me.  .  .  .  It's  all  his.  He  took  this  room 
for  me,  and  bought  everything  you  see  except 
the  big  furniture.  He  put  that  shelf  up  for 
me  with  his  own  hands.  He  can  do  anything 
he  likes,  because  I  only  want  him  to  be  happy. 
And  I'm  lonely,  miserable,  every  moment 
he  is  away  from  me  !  "  she  ended,  with 
almost  a  little  wail. 

It  was  utterly  hopeless — ^something  not  to 
be  grappled  with.  Slowly  Miss  Valj can  turned 
for  the  door — and  turned  for  yet  another 
look. 

"  Enough  !  "  she  whispered.  "  Now  hear 
me.  However  low  you  may  have  sunk,  or 
will  sink,  it  is  not  the  intention  of  his  best 
friends  that  he  shall  sink  altogether  too. 
With  you  I  have  nothing  more  to  do.  I 
have  given  you  a  name  in  my  own  mind  that 


THE   BORDERLAND  277 

I  shall  not  utter.  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of 
waiting  below,  to  inform  the  landlady  of  this 
house  who  and  what  he  is ;  to  tell  her  that 
you  are  living  here  under  a  lie — that  you  are 
not  man  and  wife." 

"  She  knows,"  was  the  unmoved  answer. 
"  You  will  only  waste  your  time.  What  he 
is  to  me,  and  what  I  am  to  him,  I  say,  is 
nothing  to  do  with  any  one  else  in  the  world. 
If  you  wait  long  enough  he  may  be  back — 
he  will  tell  you  for  himself.  I  know  he 
would !  " 

"  You  know  ?  "  It  was  maddening  that 
she  could  do  little  but  echo  those  calm  asser- 
tions ;  maddening  to  think  that  this  girl 
alone  held  the  key  to  the  man's  fugitive 
movements  by  day  and  night.  "  You  know 
nothing  except  what  he  chooses  to  tell  you. 
What  do  you  imagine  a  man  cares  for  any 
woman  who  sells  herself  to  him  in  the  way 
you  have  done  ?  In  what  one  sense  are  you 
fitted  to  be  the  companion  of  such  a  man  as 
he  ?     You  !     I  am  asking  you  a  question  !  " 

"  When  you're  quite  happy  you  don't 
stop  to  think,"  Amber  Lou  said  simply. 
Nothing,  it  seemed,  could  rend  the  robe  of 
shame  that  she  wore  as  proudly  as  a  bride 
wears  orange-blossom.  Nothing  could  make 
her  falter. 

"  Happiness  ?  You  call  it  that  ?  "  Miss 
Valjean  had  taken  a  step  back  into  the  room. 


278  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  You  are  either  a  cunning  woman  or  a  fool ; 
but  at  least  you  know,  as  every  woman  knows, 
that  Nature  made  man  the  hunter  and  woman 
the  hunted  in  this  life.  It  was  for  you  to  hold 
him  at  his  distance,  for  the  sake  of  his  future 
career,  if  nothing  more.     It  was " 

"  One  moment,"  Amber  Lou  put  in,  with 
just  a  touch  of  the  old  quiet  scorn.  "  I  have 
thought  of  that,  all  along.  I  could  have  been 
his  wife  at  this  minute,  but  I  wouldn't.  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  tell  you,  but  it  is  so. 
I'U  never  tie  him  down  to  anything,  to  spoil 
his  chances — you  needn't  fear  that  so  much. 
You  can  see  there's  a  change  in  me,  can't 
you  ?  He's  proud  of  that.  But  that's  not 
to  say  that  some  day  he  won't  wake  up  and 
look  back,  is  it  ?  And — and  if  I  leave  him 
quite  free  to  marry,  I  can't  do  more,  can  I  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  You  can  leave  him  free  now — 
to-night !  Shall  I  tell  you  something  ?  It 
is  only  an  hour  since  I  heard  him  say  that  he 
had  awakened,  and  yet  was  fettered.  What 
did  he  mean  ?  That  by  his  own  folly  he  had 
put  a  halter  about  his  neck,  and  that  he  is 
too  weak  to  clear  himself.  It  is  for  you  to 
say  the  word,  and  let  him  go — let  him  come 
back  to  his  right  place  in  the  world !  " 

"  And  if  I  did,  would  he  be  just  the  same 
to  Miss  Valjean  as  if  nothing  had  happened  ?  " 
Amber  Lou  asked  absently.  "  Or  would 
you  think  him  "ist  as  bad  as  you  think  me  ?  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  279 

"  That  is  not  the  question."  She  restrained 
a  trembling  eagerness.  "  I  refuse  to  discuss 
the  relations  between  you,  which  nothing  you 
say  can  justify " 

"  That's  where  you're  wrong,"  she  inter- 
polated with  a  grave  assurance.  "  Love 
justifies  him  coming  here  to  me  as  often  as  he 
likes.  If  not  he  would  keep  as  far  away  as 
he  could.  You  don't  know  him  in  the 
least." 

Gasp  after  gasp  left  Miss  Valj  can's  pale 
lips.  These  were  the  words  he  had  spoken 
himself,  and  Amber  Lou  had  learned  them 
by  heart,  and  based  all  her  serene  dignity 
upon  them. 

"  We'll  call  it,  then,  his  indiscretion,"  she 
said,  when  she  could,  bowing  her  head  to  the 
superior  faith.  "  I,  perhaps,  have  an  alto- 
gether wrong  idea  as  to  what  his  professed 
religion  says  upon  the  subject.  I  think  we 
have  said  enough.  You  have  made  it  very 
clear  to  me  what  the  attraction  is  for  him 
here.  You  can  tell  him  that  I  came  to- 
night  " 

"  I  shan't,  Miss  Valjean."  She  was  look- 
ing down  at  her  little  "  singing  "  kettle.  "  I 
shall  not  say  one  word  to  upset  him.  He 
knows  just  what  he  is  doing.  And  perhaps 
— perhaps  it  might  surprise  you  to  know  that 
he  has  knelt  by  that  bed  and  prayed — more 
than   once.     And   he   meant   what   he   said. 


28o  THE  BORDERLAND 

He's  a  better  man  than  you  or  I  will  ever  be 
as  women  !  " 

''  Where  is  he  now,  may  I  ask  ?  "  Miss  Val- 
jean  said,  in  a  voice  almost  soundless.  The 
long  pause  had  intervened. 

"  Yes,  I  can  tell  you  that.  He  has  gone 
with  food-and-shelter  tickets  lor  the  men 
and  women  on  the  Embankment  all  night. 
They  give  them  two  ounces  of  margarine, 
half  a  pound  of  bread,  and  a  bed  for  the 
night.  He  says  it  breaks  his  heart  to  see 
them.  That's  part  of  his  winter  work — you 
know,  of  course.  You  know  far  more  about 
him  than  I  do,  come  to  that — except  that 
every  word  you  say  against  him  will  only 
make  me  think  the  more  of  him.     It's  just 

the  same,   you  know "   she  rose  slowly 

from  the  stool,  with  the  tranquillity  and  pose 
of  a  born  tragedienne — *'  as  if  you  came  here 
to  a  wife  and  tried  to  take  her  husband  from 
her.  Just  the  same.  And  that's  the  thing 
I  should  have  thought  any  woman  might 
feel  shame  for  !  " 

"  You  took  him  from  me''  Out  it  quivered. 
Her  clenched  hands  came  together ;  the 
cloak  fell  from  her  shoulders  in  a  heap  un- 
heeded. "  You  took  him  from  me  !  .  .  . 
Yes,  you  may  stare — you  can  do  nothing 
else — you  have  no  heart  in  you.     From  me  !  " 

"  I'm  sorry."  Amber  Lou's  Ups  set  upon 
those  two  hushed  words.    That  was  all. 


THE   BORDERLAND  281 

"  Sorry  ?  Don't  be  !  Don't  think  I  mourn 
on  my  own  account ;  don't  think  I  came  for 
that.  I  mourn  to  think  that  such  a  man — 
he  is  good ! — should  have  sacrificed  himself 
and  his  splendid  future  completely  upon  — 
upon — you  !  " 

"  Has  he  done  that  ?  "  the  other  asked 
with  lips  gone  dry.  For  one  moment — that 
last  moment — Miss  Valj can's  emotion  had 
lifted  her  to  the  height  of  a  woman  inspired. 

"  You  know  !  Does  his  face  never  tell  you 
that  ?  Do  you  never  see  the  trouble  in  his 
eyes  ?  Yes,  you  do  !  In  passion  for  you, 
he  dare  not  tell  you  he  is  ruined — that  within 
a  few  days  from  now  the  Christian  Brother- 
hood will  cast  him  out  from  their  ranks  as  a 
traitor.  Then,  when  he  walks  the  streets, 
he  may  come  to  his  senses.  And  you  could 
have  saved  him ;  you  could  have  proved 
what  you  call  your  love.  You  could  have 
taken  yourself  out  of  his  life  for  a  while " 

"  I  couldn't,"  Amber  Lou  said,  with  a 
queer  sob,  her  blue  eyes  dilated.  "  There's 
no  place  in  London  to-night  where  he  wouldn't 
find  me  !  "    And  Miss  Valjean  crept  close. 

'*  There  is  !  "  she  whispered.  "  There  is  ! 
.  .  .  Give  him  only  one  month — no  more 
— and  he  will  be  thanking  God  that  he  was 
saved  on  the  very  brink  of  ruin.  Saved  by 
you  !  " 


CHAPTER    XXII 

ONE  night,  when  an  icy  wind  hummed 
along  the  streets  and  filled  with  bitter- 
ness all  those  who  walked  London  pavements 
with  starved  stares  and  empty  pockets,  John 
Laverock  came  out  into  Hoxton  Street. 

It  burst  upon  his  dull,  blank  eyes  like  a 
revelation.  He  had  skirted  the  long  thorough- 
fare in  a  dreamlike  way  often  of  late,  but  a 
vague  horror  and  grief  was  now  wrapped  for 
him  about  its  mere  name.  Near  a  month 
had  gone  since  he  had  actually  set  foot  in  the 
place. 

It  was  Saturday  night.  He  had  turned, 
all  unknowingly,  down  one  of  the  quieter 
turnings  from  the  Cityward  end  of  Kingsland 
Road,  and  there,  running  before  him  with  all 
the  blaze  and  clamour  of  a  fair,  was  Hoxton 
again.  Nothing  was  changed — save  himself. 
AU  was  the  same — ^if  he  could  bring  himself 
to  realize  it  all  anew. 

The  same  hatless  women  hurried  past  with 
tightly-drawn  shawls,  dragging  shivering  chil- 
dren, and  talking  in  the  foul,  meaningless 
manner  that  was  for  them  the  King's  English. 

282 


THE   BORDERLAND  283 

The  ever-swinging  public-house  doors  gave 
out  a  strident  babble  of  noise  :  the  men  had 
taken  their  money,  and  were  spending  it  in 
the  only  way  known  to  them.  Those  in 
charge  of  the  innumerable  naphtha-lit  stalls 
roared  out  invitations  to  purchase,  justified 
by  the  solid  fact  that  Hoxton  can,  and  does, 
sell  almost  every  known  commodity  at  a  price 
that  strangles  competition,  and  yet  with  a 
profit  known  only  to  itself. 

"  Buy  the  lot !  Who'll  buy  the  lot  ? 
Goin'  on  yer  honeymoon  ter-morrow,  are 
yer  ?  Then  here's  yer  chance.  We'll  go 
together  !  " 

"  No  larks,  gels  !  Take  this  lump  o'  skate 
home  to  the  old  man,  and  he  won't  know 
hisself.     He'll  gnaw  yer  neck." 

"  Now,  then !  who  says  a  humbrella  for 
Chris'mus  ?  Look  at  it.  None  o'  yer  nine- 
penny  cotton  pray-for-rain  about  that.  All 
silk  from  the  genuine  worm,  as  used  by  the 
Shah  and  Shah-ess  ;  and  they  oughter  know  ; 
they  Uve  on  blood-worm  and  lemon  kali  ! 
Two  bob — one  and  three — there,  take  it, 
eight  pence  !  Perish  me  pink,  I  can't  sell 
'em  at  that !  Well,  go  on,  have  yer  own  way. 
If  I  die  for  it,  it  shall  go  to-night  for — thank 
you,  mum,  it's  yours — elevenpence  !  "  (Broad 
grins.  A  woman  had  stretched  out  with  her 
shilling  a  thought  too  soon.) 

"AU'ot!     AU'ot!  ....     Eightapunny, 


284  THE  BORDERLAND 

them  oranges — like  wine  !  .  .  .  .  Here's 
mutton  for  yer — three  a  pound.  Go  south 
down  the  road — Southdown  ;  see  ? — and 
you'll  pay  ninepence.  Sold  to  a  lady  with 
rings  on  her  fingers  and  bells — your  change, 
mum  !  .  .  .  .  Here  !  Screw  on  this  I  Ever 
seen  a  bit  o'  linoleum  to  touch  that  ?  Why, 
the  Czar  o'  Russia  had  the  feller  piece  to  it 
and  wired  for  more.  Last  time — four  and 
six  !  You  won't  ?  No,  I'm  damned  if  you 
shall,  any  of  yer.  Pack  it  away,  Bill.  They 
ain't  bujdn'  ;   they're  out  pickin'  pockets  !  " 

He  was  impelled  on  down  the  stall-lined 
avenue,  sickened  by  the  clamour,  and  yet 
trying  hard  to  get  his  old  grip  upon  enthu- 
siasm and  hope.  Now  there  was  a  scuffling 
and  shouting  just  behind  him,  and  he  retreated 
to  let  a  small,  jeering  crowd  pour  by.  At 
the  head,  half  savage,  half  leering  in  apprecia- 
tion, walked  a  man  leading  three  or  four  dogs 
of  different  sizes  at  the  end  of  strings.  All 
had  disappeared  down  one  of  those  pro- 
blematical side-streets  before  a  passer-by's 
remark  had  carried  the  truth  to  John  Lave- 
rock's brain.  A  reward  would  be  offered  for 
those  dogs  to-morrow ;  and  it  represented 
a  fair  day's  work. 

Hoxton  on  a  Saturday  night  is  especially 
rich  in  surprises  and  contrast  shocks — for  all 
except  those  to  whom  it  is  the  beginning  and 
end    of    existence.     The    saddest,    maddest. 


THE   BORDERLAND  285 

merriest  street  conceivable.  Starkest  poverty 
moves  in  and  out  of  plenty — in  and  out,  like 
a  procession  of  skeletons  winding  among  the 
laden  tables  of  a  banqueting-hall.  Jewelled 
fingers  wrap  up  oddments  of  meat  for  pur- 
chasers whose  bones  seem  scarcely  to  hang 
together  beneath  a  few  rags  of  raiment. 
There  is  no  thought  for  to-morrow — for 
many  a  to-morrow  has  no  meaning,  or  never 
dawns.  The  shifting  crowd  pours  in  and 
out  of  the  rookeries  lining  the  main  thorough- 
fare :  rookeries  teeming  with  drunken 
laughter,  dreadful  silences,  screaming  infants, 
altercations,  blows  and  curses — vice  and 
poverty  herded  into  one  small  area  that  seems 
scarcely  able  to  contain  it.  And  nobody 
cares — nobody  save  those  few  pitying,  earnest 
souls  who  labour  night  and  day  to  pour  a 
little  oil  on  the  turbulent  waters,  and  of  whose 
Titanic  efforts  so  little  is  heard.  Private 
effort  and  self-sacrifice  can  never  purge  the 
Hoxtons  of  England  ;  and  public  determina- 
tion is  not  to  be  aroused  by  mere  statistics 
and  passing  impressions. 

Yet  Hoxton  enjoys  itself  surpassingly  in 
its  own  way.  John  Laverock  found  his  way 
barred  by  another  crowd  in  the  centre  of  the 
road — the  sidewalks  being  quite  impassable. 
The  piper  again  ! 

A  piano-organ,  beloved  of  Hoxton,  had 
drawn  up,  and  the  handle  was  revolving  at 


286  THE   BORDERLAND 

a  great  rate.  The  strains  of  "  Killarney  " 
percolated  through  the  din  ;  and  in  an  instant 
the  army  of  barefooted  rats  had  gathered  as 
from  nowhere,  "  dancing  "  with  grave  solemn- 
ity in  serried  rows .  Troops  of  girls  in  flat  straw 
hats,  their  arms  linked,  formed  circles  and  vied 
in  attempts  to  exhibit  the  quality  or  absence 
of  their  underclothing,  amid  gusts  of  laughter. 
The  tune  flashed  into  a  wild  polka,  and  thence 
into  the  haunting  melody  of  "  A  few  more  years 
shall  roll ;  "  and  the  "  dancing  "  and  laughter 
went  on.  One  half -tipsy  girl  made  a  clutch 
at  John  Laverock's  arm  and  swung  him  down 
from  the  kerb.  He  shook  himself  free  with 
a  bitter  word — that  he  regretted  in  the  next 
instant — and  forged  his  way  on  through  the 
crowd. 

There  was  no  "  heart  "  in  his  intentions 
to-night.  It  was  a  mere  mechanical  re- 
connoitre— a  reluctant  fascination — a  compel- 
ling of  himself  to  look  upon  Hoxton  once 
more  in  all  its  sordid  glory.  From  time  to 
time  he  found  himself  halting  to  look  dully 
round  at  certain  corners,  as  for  a  possible 
glimpse  of  Cobra  or  Ben  Fisher.  But  they 
were  not  to  be  seen  :  that  particular  phase 
of  the  Hoxton  bioscope  seemed  to  have  faded 
out.  Of  all  the  familiar  types  only  one  passed 
him  to-night — the  shuffling  old  Chinaman, 
who  stood  and  nodded  at  him  with  cunning 
stupidity.     That  past  strange  month  seemed 


THE   BORDERLAND  287 

to  be  lengthening  into  a  year.  One  more 
queer  sensation  filtered  through  his  dreamlike 
haze.  Perhaps  Phillimore  Street  itself  had 
undergone  a  change.  Perhaps  his  unques- 
tioned house-to-house  influence  there  had 
been  utterly  obliterated. 

With  the  effort  of  his  lifetime,  as  it  seemed, 
he  turned  into  the  wind-swept  street.  The 
lamps  were  flickering  and  throwing  great 
shadows.  Either  actually,  or  only  in  his 
brain,  there  certainly  was  a  comparative 
silence ;  and  the  pavements  seemed  almost 
bare  of  their  usual  cargo  of  bickering  children. 
It  was  at  old  Wisbey's,  as  a  matter  of  recur- 
ring habit,  that  he  paused  first.  He  looked 
down  over  the  broken  railing,  and  there  in 
the  area  room,  between  two  bits  of  burning 
candle,  the  chips  of  leather  strewn  all  around 
him,  sat  old  Wisbey,  as  though  he  had  never 
moved  from  that  position.  He  was  smoking 
a  clay  pipe,  and  he  glared  back  stonily  as 
without  recognition. 

"  How  are  you,  Wisbey  ?  "  John  Laverock 
called  down  quietly.  "  How's  business  with 
you  ?  " 

Slowly  old  Wisbey  took  the  pipe  from  his 
toothless  gums,  and  pointed  it. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  bis'ness  ?  "  he 
demanded  shrilly.  "  When  did  you  ever  do 
any  ?  When  you  want  to  know,  come  and 
try  a  bit,  and  see.'* 


288  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  Oh,  come  !  "  said  the  other  soothingly. 
"  You  and  I " 

"  I  don't  want  to  come  !  "  he  called  out, 
savagely  vague.  Clearly  it  was  one  of  his 
truculent  nights.  "  It's  the  likes  of  you  that 
talk  and  don't  act.  Next  time  you  want 
Wisbey  you'll  ring  the  bell  at  the  work' us 
yard." 

"  What,  are  things  as  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  Bad  as  that  ?  "  He  mimicked  the  words 
mockingly.  "  If  I  ain't  worth  a  hunderd  o' 
coal  at  Chris'mus  I  ain't  worth  a  year's 
gammon  and  gab  from  such  as  you  !  That's 
me. 

And  then  John  Laverock  understood.  Old 
Wisbey,  for  some  reason,  doubtless  sound,  was 
not  a  recipient  of  one  of  the  limited  number 
of  sacks  of  fuel  distributed  at  Yuletide. 

**  I'm  sorry,"  was  all  he  could  say.  "  It 
is  so  hard  for  them  to  pick  and  choose " 

"  Ay !  'Specially  for  them  that'll  have 
fires  goin'  in  every  room  theirselves,  and 
turkeys,  and  what  not.  I  know  'em.  Don't 
you  worry !  " 

"  Wait  a  day  or  so,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can 
do  for  you."  A  promise  he  had  had  to  repeat 
quite  a  dozen  times  that  week. 

**  Don't  want  it,"  old  Wisbey  snarled, 
getting  to  his  feet.  "  I  wouldn't  have  it  if 
you  chucked  it  down  the  airy — no  !  You 
get  home  to  your  quails  on  toast — you  ain't 


THE  BORDERLAND  289 

wanted  down  here.  Go  on  ! — it's  about  time 
for  you  to  have  appendicitis  !  " 

Made  to  smile,  John  Laverock  wished  him 
good-night  and  walked  quickly  away  from 
a  perverse  fusillade  of  curses — to  halt  abruptly 
at  the  next  gateway  but  one.  Sal  Dowson 
and  her  baby !  Almost  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  forget  the  existence  of  Sal  Dowson. 
The  twinge  of  conscience  took  him  up  the 
steps  at  once.  He  had  generally  sustained 
a  rebuff  at  this  house,  but  his  interest  in  Sal 
Dowson' s  fatherless  baby  had  nevertheless 
been  keen  from  the  outset.  He  knocked  an 
anxious  rat-tat. 

"  How  are  you  all  ?  "  he  asked  warmly, 
as  Sal's  hard-featured  landlady  at  last  ap- 
peared. "  And  how's  Sal,  and  the  little  one  ? 
Shall  I  come  in  for  a  minute  ?  " 

She  stood  peering,  drawing  the  wisps  of 
loose  hair  back  from  her  face.  For  an  instant 
she  had  seemed  about  to  bang  the  door  as  an 
answer. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,"  she  said  lifelessly.  "  Lor' 
lumme,  ain't  you  heard,  sir  ?  You're  all 
behind  the  times,  you  are,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Don't  say  that !     Is  she "     He  had 

a  vague  misgiving  ;  but  he  was  not  prepared 
for  the  sense  of  drear  hopelessness  which 
seemed  to  pervade  all  life  ahead  in  that 
next  moment.  The  landlady  had  given  a 
short  laugh. 


290  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  that.  She  won't  have  many 
more  chances  to  fly  to  drink,  I'm  thinkin'. 
She's  done  the  kid  in." 

He  stood  Hke  a  figure  of  stone,  staring. 
Gratified  by  the  effect  produced,  she  emerged 
a  little  farther,  dabbed  her  eyes,  and  pro- 
ceeded. 

"  Yes,  you're  all  behind,  sir.  Course,  you 
know,  its  father — a  butcher's  man  up  the 
road — was  knocked  down  to  pay  two-and- 
six  a  week  for  its  keep.  And,  of  course,  he's 
never  paid  a  farthin'  from  that  day  to  this. 
They  never  do  ;  they  hop  into  the  next  neigh- 
bourhood. One  thing  and  another,  and  the 
drink  as  well,  it  must  ha'  got  on  her  mind, 
pore  soul.  She  dropped  it  out  o'  misery 
over  the  canal  bridge  one  night — why,  it  was 
the  Thursday  before  last,  wasn't  it,  Mrs. 
Cropley  ?  " 

"  Thursday  'fore  last,"  confirmed  Mrs. 
Cropley  with  cheerful  decision  from  the  stairs. 
**  The  inquest  was  on  Sarraday.  Course, 
she  was  screamin'  for  a  look  at  the  pore  mite 
then." 

"  Dead  ? "  his  hollow  voice  could  just 
sound. 

"  Dead  !  Not  harf .  And  the  best  thing  for 
it,  too.  I  should  ha'  put  her  away  myself 
if  it  had  gone  on  much  longer.  Why,  the 
kid  laid  up  there  days  at  a  time  without  a 
morsel   of   any  thin'."     Mrs.    Cropley   folded 


THE  BORDERLAND  291 

her  arms  and  came  forward  for  a  look  at  the 
glow  over  Hoxton  Street.  "  It  looked  lovely, 
didn't  it,  with  all  them  flowers  round  it. 
Eight  months  old,  sir,  come  January.  It's 
the  father  that  ought  to  swing,  not  the  mother; 
but  they  never  do.  The  law  ain't  made  for 
wimmen  ;  you  can't  make  men  know  what 
wimmen  have  to  go  through." 

"  Will  she — hang  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Not  she  !  "  replied  Mrs.  Cropley.  ''  She's 
up  for  the  Sessions — I  dunno  where  they  took 
her  at  the  finish — but  the  p'lice-court  mis- 
sionary bloke's  got  somethin'  to  say,  I've 
heard.  It  was  like  this.  Here  was  the  bridge, 
as  you  might  say,  at  your  elbow,  and  she 
hung  the  kid  over  the  parrypit — jist  like  this 
— so  they  tell  me,  over  a  minnit  before  she 
let  go  ;  and  then " 

"  Don't !  "  With  a  sudden  uncontrollable 
shudder  the  man  turned  and  stumbled  down 
the  steps.  He  had  paid  his  last  call  at  that 
house. 

The  pavements  were  heaving  ;  the  icy  wind 
seemed  to  be  a  cold  hand  closing  over  his 
heart.  Only  the  strongest  effort  at  self- 
repression  enabled  him  to  make  that  next 
pause — at  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's,  on  the  opposite 
side.  He  wished  merely,  he  told  himself,  to 
glean  a  little  information  as  to  the  last-known 
movements  of  Ben  Fisher.  He  shrank  in- 
stinctively from  calling  upon  little  Mrs.  Fisher 


292  THE  BORDERLAND 

herself — a  patient,  long-suffering  little  slave 
who  merited  a  better  fate  than  God  had 
meted  out  to  her.  Besides,  he  remembered, 
she  was  seldom  at  home  ;  whereas  it  was 
Mrs.  Mucklehorn's  complacent  boast  that  she 
never  stepped  out  of  the  bloomin*  house  from 
one  month's  end  to  another. 

In  other  circumstances  it  would  have  struck 
him,  as  she  waddled  along  the  lower  passage, 
that  Mrs.  Mucklehorn  might  soon  have  a 
difficulty  in  doing  so,  if  she  had  so  wished. 
Her  vast  shoulders  and  depth  of  bosom 
partially  exposed  to  permit  her  to  breathe 
were  truly  impressive. 

"  Gettin'  a  size,  ain't  I  ?  "  she  observed, 
noting  his  involuntary  glance.  "  Muckle- 
horn says  I  get  out  o'  bed  ton  by  ton  ;  and  he 
ain't  far  out.  And  how  ha'  you  been  all  this 
long  time,  Mr.  Laverock  ?  I  should  say 
you've  lost  flesh,  and  a  middlin'  good  bit, 
too.     My  word  !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted.  He  had  grown  accus- 
tomed to  the  candid  allusions  of  Hoxton  as  to 
his  personal  appearance.  "  It  upset  me  a 
little  to  hear  of  Sal  Dowson's  sad  ending. 
But  I  reaUy  called  to  know  if  you  could  tell 
me  anything  of  Mrs.  Fisher  and  her  husband  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ah  !  Herharf  o'  the  house  has  been 
empty  this  fortnit." 

"  Empty  ?  " 

"  Didn't    you    know  ?     I   thought   you'd 


THE  BORDERLAND  293 

been  knockin'  there.  Yes,  Ben  Fisher  and 
his  missis,  you  mean."  She  looked  at  him ; 
and  he  knew  now,  what  he  had  suspected 
before,  that  Phillimore  Street  had  a  fairly 
comprehensive  idea  of  the  part  Ben  Fisher 
had  played.  "Well,  yes,  I'm  sorry  for  that 
woman,"  she  confessed.  *'  She  can't  settle 
down  anywhere  for  six  months  at  a  stretch, 
and  loses  all  her  jobs  every  time.  That  dirty 
swine  of  a  husband  of  hers — ^pah  !  I'd  limb 
him  alive  if  he  was  mine.  A  man  that  lived 
on  my  eamin's  'ud  find  hisself  under  the  tap, 
sharp.  So  he  is,  come  to  that — ^The  Brewery 
Tap  down  Kingsland.  Yes ;  him  and  that 
Cobra  King  had  been  passin'  their  flash  notes 
for  long  enough,  I've  heard.  Anyway,  they've 
cleared  right  out.  And  the  woman  had  to 
do  the  same.  Catch  me !  She  left  harf  her 
things  behind  in  her  hurry.  The  coppers 
came  down  only  an  hour  afterwards.  You 
won't  see  them  no  more  down  this  way." 
He  stood ;  stood  so  long  thinking  of  it  all 
that  he  began  to  wonder  why  the  world  was 
created.  Then  he  remembered  that  Hoxton — 
this  Borderland  of  lost  souls  and  human 
wreckage — was  man's  creation  alone  ;  toler- 
ated, they  assured  him,  because  the  human 
wreckage  must  be  swept  into  and  confined 
within  certain  circumscribed  areas.  A  healthy 
normal  man  would  quickly  die  in  one  of  the 
Hoxton  rookeries,  he  was  assured ;   but  the 


294  THE  BORDERLAND 

true  product  of  the  Borderland,  supposing 
that  he  reached  adult  age  by  an  accident, 
could  thrive  there. 

He  felt  in  his  pockets,  found  some  coins 
for  Mrs.  Mucklehorn's  children,  and  turned  to 
go.  He  had  a  curious  conviction  that  he 
should  not  pass  down  Phillimore  Street  again. 
And  then,  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  he  swerved 
round,  his  face  a  degree  paler.  And  it  was 
coincidental  that  Mrs.  Mucklehorn  had  waited. 

"  You — you  have  not  seen  or  heard  any- 
thing lately  of — of  Lou  Bohannan  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  I've  not,"  she  said.  "  Have 
you  ?  " 

It  was  never  answered.  He  had  given  a 
choke,  and  was  gone.  Before  her  door 
closed,  his  fast  strides  had  put  Phillimore 
Street  behind  him. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

HE  reached  his  rooms  again  shortly  after 
nine  oclock. 

He  walked  to  and  fro  between  the  folding 
doors — to  and  fro.  At  one  time  these  apart- 
ments of  his  had  seemed  tolerably  comfort- 
able. Now — ^now  there  was  an  insupportable 
air  of  loneliness,  an  atmosphere  of  haunting 
memories,  about  them.  His  supper  was  set, 
but  he  could  not  touch  it.  He  was  at  tense 
war  with  his  inner  self,  and  knew  not  how  it 
could  end ;  and  the  protracted  struggle  was 
telHng  upon  him  physically  and  mentally. 
He  went  to  the  glass  doors  and  drew  the  blind 
aside  with  shaking  fingers,  and  looked  out 
over  London — and  across  to  the  hidden  street 
of  houses  in  one  of  which  a  listening  slip  of  a 
girl  had  sat  and  waited  and]  nursed  her 
blind  absorbing  belief  in  his  greatness,  his 
tenderness,  his  faith. 

"It  is  God's  doing  !  "  he  said,  with  catch 
after  catch  of  his  breath.  "  But  I  cannot 
bear  it ;  I  cannot  live  without  her.  What- 
ever happens,  God  must  judge  me  according 
to  my  strength  and  my  motives  !  " 


296  THE  BORDERLAND 

The  postman  came  up  the  path.  He  drew 
back  sharply,  his  ears  set.     Rat-tat ! 

"  For  you,  Mr.  Laverock,"  came  Mrs. 
BHnco's  voice,  in  mingled  resentment  and 
resignation.  She  had  taken  a  careful  survey 
of  the  envelope,  he  knew.  She  could  not  help 
doing  that. 

"  Thank  you  !  " 

He  sprang  to  the  door,  to  take  it  from  her. 
One  glance,  and  the  thick  beat  of  his  pulse 
died  down,  and  the  letter  was  pocketed.  It 
was  from  Louis  Valjean  ;  and  of  late  he  had 
felt  a  conscious  fear  and  reluctance  in  opening 
the  letters  from  his  old  friend.  And  the  sight 
of  the  handwriting  had  made  him  think 
of  something  else.  He  gave  a  quiet  little 
cough,  helped  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Blinco 
had  Hngered. 

"  By  the  bye,  Mrs.  Blinco,  I  ought  to  have 
told  you  that  I  shall  be  saying  good-bye  to  you 
in  a  fortnight — with  the  New  Year,  that  is. 
And  perhaps  I  may  take  this  opportunity 
to " 

"  Don't !  Pray  don't  mention  anything  of 
that,"  she  put  in,  with  a  frigidity  which 
experience  told  him  was  the  forerunner  of  a 
sobbing  wonder  as  to  why  she  had  ever  been 
born.  "  You're  going.  That's  enough.  I 
can  bear  anything  now — they  can  burn  the 
house  down  over  my  head.  In  fact,  it  will 
come  to  that,   I   know — for  the  insurance 


THE  BORDERLAND  297 

money.  Blinco  cannot  be  expected  to  care 
so  long  as  he  has  a  bed  to  lie  in.  Oh,  I  ought 
to  have  killed  him  with  kindness,  I  know ;  I 
ought  to  clean  his  boots  for  him,  to  keep  him 
in  a  good  humour — yes !  Don't  trouble, 
Mr.  Laverock — don't  trouble !  You  may 
hear  I'm  gone  for  good,  but  that's  nothing  ; 
the  rates  and  taxes  go  on  for  ever,  like  fiends 
of  husbands." 

"He  is  not  a  fiend ;  I  can't  let  you  call 
him  that,"  he  said,  with  warmth.  He  had 
followed  her  to  the  kitchen,  wishful  to  soften 
the  blow  as  far  as  lay  in  his  power.  "  In 
fact,  I  should  like  to  say  before  I  go  that  I 
shall  always  believe  Mr.  Blinco  is  simply  one 
of  the  men  whom — whom  you  require  to 
know  how  to  manage.  But|  there,  we  won't 
talk  of  that.  You  knew,  of  course,  that  my 
term  in  London  was  only " 

"  I  did  not.  I  did  not,"  she  repeated, 
tearfully  distant.  "  I  was  told  nothing  that 
I  recollect.  I  knew,  of  course,  that  I  could 
not  please  you.  I  saw,  of  course,  there  was  a 
decided  change,  after  your  illness — you  had 
taken  to  late  hours,  and  staying  out  with 
*  friends,'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — ^natural 
enough,  I  suppose,  in  men  who  have  nobody's 
feehngs  but  their  own  to  consider.  Oh,  if  I 
were  only  a  man  !  "  She  rose,  and  banged 
her  chair  back.  "  I'd — I'd  revive  the  lash 
and  pickle  for  some  of  these  bipeds  who  go  to 


298  THE  BORDERLAND 

business  from  nine  till  five,  and  then  go  out 
again  in  a  huff  for  the  evening  because  their 
wives  are  not  dressed-up  and  smiling — on 
thirty  shillings  a  week.  I  would,  heaven 
help  me !  It's  not  so  much  what  they  spend,  if 
they  earn  it;  but  did  you  ever  know  a  man  who, 
calling  his  drinking  and  smoking  a  legitimate 
pleasure,  ever  gave  his  wife  an  equal  amount 
to  spend  per  night  for  her  pleasure  ?  Never  ! 
The  selfishness  of  men  !  " 

"He  is  not  at  home  ?  "  John  Laverock 
ventured  hesitatingly. 

**  At  home  ?  Can  you  see  him  sitting  in 
that  chair  ?  I  can't !  I  can  sit  here  and 
scheme  how  to  save  money  while  he  wastes 
it — perhaps  on  other  men's  wives  for  all  I 
know.' 

"  Oh,  no— no— no  !  " 

"  No  ?  That's  what  you  say,  Mr.  Laver- 
rock.  What  you  think,  is  another  matter. 
No  man  in  the  world  could  ever  be  trusted  out 
of  sight  with  a  sovereign  in  his  pocket.  They 
fly  to  the  wrong  thing  just  as  a  wasp  goes  to 
the  jam  jar.  There  is  not  such  a  thing  as  a 
straightforward  man.  Don't  you  think  we 
women  don't  know  ?  Only  we  have  to  put 
up  with  it.  And  thirty  years  of  putting  up 
with  it  is  nearly  enough — nearly  enough  !  " 

She  had  by  no  means  exhausted  her  theme. 
She  paused  only  because  her  listener,  standing 
there  so  stiff  of  limb  and  fixed  of  face,  had 


THE   BORDERLAND  299 

abruptly  subsided  into  a  chair,  slid  his  arms 
over  the  table,  and  dropped  his  head  sideways 
on  to  them.  She  half  rose.  It  was  as  if  a 
see-saw  had  reversed  its  balance. 

*'  Oh,  I  didn't — don't  think  I  was  referring 
to  you  in  any  way,  Mr.  Laverock,"  she  said, 
almost  softly.  "  There  is  the  exception, 
of  course,  to  even  that  iron  rule.  And  I  will 
say  that  of  all  the  gentlemen " 

Even  that  word  failed  to  touch  him. 
Craning  a  little  nearer,  struck  by  the  white- 
ness of  his  face  and  hands,  she  found  herself 
looking  into  wide-open  eyes  that  did  not  see 
her.  She  j  umped  back  with  a  scared  whimper . 
Presently,  as  she  went  to  cry  out,  his  hand 
rose  a  Httle  and  fell  again,  as  in  a  sign  to  her 
for  silence. 

For  a  minute  or  so  it  held.  Then  his  glassy 
eyes  closed  slowly ;  and  that  allowed  her  to 
act.  The  cruet  was  at  her  back.  Regardless 
for  once  of  waste,  she  lifted  him  and  swamped 
his  brows  with  the  table  vinegar.  If  it 
ran  down  beneath  his  collar  in  little  rivulets 
its  efficacy  was  unquestionable.  It  induced 
shiver  after  shiver.  A  minute  more,  and  he 
could  sit  unsupported,  one  hand  to  his  fore- 
head and  one  clutchingly  upon  her  arm. 
Unnervingly  strange  he  stiU  looked ;  but  he 
was  in  his  right  mind  again. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  muttered  thickly. 
*'  Where  am  I  ?    Forgive  me  I  " 


300  THE  BORDERLAND 

"  Forgive  you  !  "  she  breathed  back.  "  I 
don't  Uke  it  at  all.  That  mustn't  happen 
again.  I  knew  very  well  you  had  some 
trouble  or  other  on  your  mind  ;  but  you  can't 
warn  a  man.  Was — was  it  a  sudden  pain,  or 
what  ?  " 

"  No — no  !  I'm  all  right,"  he  said,  breath- 
ing fcLst.  As  the  pallor  left  his  face,  the  sweat 
had  begun  to  bead  out  upon  it.  The  end  of 
her  apron  could  hardly  keep  pace  with  this 
secondary  symptom.  "  I  don't  know  what 
happened.     Don't  cry  !  " 

"I'm  not  going  to."  She  had  reached  for 
the  kettle,  and  was  bathing  his  face  with  clean 
water  by  this  time.  "I'm  going  to  get  you 
into  bed,  and  then  I'm  going  to  knock  for 
that  doctor,  late  as  it  is.  As  I  said — and  he 
said — ^you  deserved  something  for  cutting 
that  illness  as  short  as  you  did.  Straight  to 
bed — this  way  !  " 

"  No — no  ;  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  said. 
He  had  got  to  his  feet.  "  Give  me  a  minute 
— stand  still.  ...  I  am  going  out  again — I 
must.  Only  for  a  little  while — because  I 
must .    The  cold  air — the  air  will  do  me  good . " 

"  Or  it  wiU  finish  you,"  she  pronounced 
solemnly,  like  an  Amen.  "Go  on ;  you 
must  do  as  you  will — you're  a  man  !  " 

He  went  unsteadily  back  down  the  passage. 
She  stood,  her  breath  suspended,  waiting  for 
him  to  collapse  ;  but  he  found  his  hat,  found 


THE   BORDERLAND  301 

the  lock,  and  was  actually  gone.  With  a  sigh 
pregnant  enough,  prolonged  enough,  to  ex- 
pand a  small  balloon,  Mrs.  Blinco  turned  to 
grasp  that  it  had  really  happened  and  that 
nothing   had  been  said  about  the   vinegar. 

The  cold  air  had  done  wonders.  Reaching 
the  street-end,  John  Laverock  was  almost 
himself  again.  Only  a  chill  fear — like  that 
of  a  man  who  has  received  an  anonymous 
menace  from  some  enemy — was  left ;  but 
that  became  smaller  and  smaller  in  contrast  to 
his  returning  realization  of  the  vast,  nameless 
dread  that  had  held  him  in  bondage  previously. 

Now  he  had  reached  the  small  house  with 
the  green  balcony,  side-walk  and  quaint 
angles.  For  some  time  he  stood  by  the 
lamp,  gazing  up  at  that  first-floor  window. 
Then,  slowly,  almost  reverently,  he  went  for- 
ward and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  opened. 
A  woman  stood  and  looked  up  into  his  ques- 
tioning face. 

"  I  wondered,"  she  said  at  last,  just  above 
her  breath.  "  No,  never  a  word.  Not  a  sign 
— not  a  clue  of  any  kind." 

"  And  it's  the  tenth  day — the  tenth  night," 
he  said,  almost  piteously.  He  had  turned 
his  face,  to  hide  it. 

"  Yes  ;  the  tenth  night,"  she  whispered. 
What  she  did  not  understand,  she  could  feel, 
it  seemed — so  quietly  she  stood,  with  her 
hands  clasped. 


302  THE   BORDERLAND 

"  I  must  bear  it/'  he  said,  with  sudden 
husky  resoluteness  that  made  her  start. 

"  Yes,  bear  it — if  you  only  can,"  she  whis- 
pered. **  Perhaps  it  was  all  for  the  best  in 
some  mysterious  way — hard  as  that  seems  to 
say.     Poor  child  !  " 

"  It  is  clear.  She  meant  to  go,  and  to 
leave  no  trace."  He  lingered.  He  seemed 
to  find  his  ray  of  comfort  in  her  hushed  atti- 
tude. "  She  had  said  no  word  to  you,  and 
no  one  had  been  here  to  see  her — no  one 
whom  she  might  have  known." 

"  No  one,  as  far  as  I  can  tell.  And  she 
had  never  left  the  house  at  night  before  that. 
Just  that  one  evening  I  happened  to  be  out, 
and  her  light  was  burning,  as  I  say,  when  I 
came  back — soon  after  ten.  Only  half  an 
hour  afterwards,  I  heard  the  front  door  click  ; 
and  that  was  the  last  I  have  seen  or  heard  of 
her.    But,  perhaps " 

"  No — no,"  he  said  heavily.  **  She  has 
gone  ;  and  I  must — must  leave  her  in  the  Al- 
mighty's keeping.  And — and  what  it  means 
for  me,  I  have  yet  to  discover." 

Another  silence.  From  time  to  time  she 
stole  a  glance  up  at  his  face,  and  away  again. 
It  was  all  beyond  her — all  but  the  palpable 
fact  that  the  man's  teeth  gave  a  little 
series  of  clicks  now  and  again  as  with 
cold. 

**  You  could   not,"  she   dared,  at   length, 


THE   BORDERLAND  303 

— "you  would  not  care  to  make  inquiries 
through  the  police  ?  " 

"  I  could  not — no  !  If — ^if  she  went  like 
that,  of  her  own  accord,  I  could   not    hope 

to "     He  paused  ;    then  dashed   a  hand 

to  his  eyes,  as  to  sweep  away  a  mist  that 
shamed  the  traditions  of  his  sex.  He  was 
going.  "If  I  do  not  see  you  before,  I  wish 
you  and  yours  a  very,  very  happy  Christmas !  " 

"  The  same  to  you,  sir,"  she  called  involun- 
tarily, in  a  choking  voice.  "  I  mean,  if  we 
know  in  our  hearts  aU  is  right — you  know 
what  I  mean  !  " 

And  the  small  dagger  of  hall-light  vanished 
abruptly.  She  had  gone  in.  She  had  nothing 
to  tell  him  ;  and  both  secretly  realized  that 
there  would  never  be  anything  to  tell_him. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

SLOWLY  the  drab,  half-lit,  longest-seeming 
days  in  the  year  ticked  by  over  London. 

It  was  six  o'clock  on  Christmas  Eve. 
Not  the  Eve  of  the  Christmas  cards  and 
children's  dreams.  London  lay  under  a 
mysterious  pall  of  dun-grey,  that  deadened 
sound  and  coated  the  streets  with  a  slime 
over  which  horses  passed  with  timid,  sliding 
feet.  The  heavens,  to  which  men's  eyes 
or  thoughts  turn  involuntarily  on  Christmas 
Eve,  were  shut  out ;  but  the  indefinable, 
inseparable  thrill — the  sensation  of  tension 
waiting  to  snap  with  a  signal-burst  of  voices 
from  on  high — tingled  in  the  air  everywhere. 
To  stand  at  any  street  corner  with  closed  eyes 
was  like  pausing  to  listen  to  the  bated  mur- 
murings  of  a  great,  distant  multitude  waiting 
for  something  to  happen. 

Even  John  Laverock  could  feel  it.  This 
was  precisely  his  mental  attitude — the  sense 
of  standing  apart  and  realizing  vaguely  how 
fast,  and  ever  increasingly  fast,  the  pulse  of 
London  beat  to-night.  For  he  had  seemed 
to  move  all  that  week  like  a  man  in  a  phantom 

804 


THE  BORDERLAND  305 

city,  unaware  of  any  impulse  or  striving  to 
break  free  of  the  spell,  following  his  pre- 
scribed duties  automatically.  He  had  missed 
this  year  completely  the  precious  spirit  of 
Christmas-tide ;  but  set  against  that  fact 
was  the  merciful  lethargy  which  obscured 
full  realization.  Amber  Lou  was  taken  from 
him — but  only  in  the  flesh.  She  moved  with 
him,  breathed  with  him,  watched  while  he 
slept.  He  had  still  the  unshakable,  deep- 
down  conviction  that  some  divine  process 
was  silently  at  work  for  him — and  for 
her. 

He  was  standing  in  the  room  which  Mrs. 
Smith  called  her  kitchen — ^in  Laburnum 
Street,  Haggerston.  It  did  duty  for  bed- 
room as  well ;  and  in  odour  and  general 
appearance  suggested  that  cattle  had  had  at 
least  temporary  possession  here.  His  tall 
figure  reached  almost  to  the  black  ceiling, 
and  the  lamplight  showed  him  vermin  calmly 
retracing  their  tracks  on  the  walls.  Mrs. 
Smith  had  "  let  everything  go."  She  had, 
indeed,  wiped  a  chair,  with  the  remark  that 
she  thought  it  would  "  hold  up  a  little  longer  "; 
but  he  had  preferred  to  stand,  even  at  the 
risk  of  wounding  what  susceptibilities  were 
left  to  her. 

"  Don't  be  flurried,  please,"  he  said,  in  the 
subdued,  sunken  voice  that  was  becoming 
habitual  with  him  now.     "  I  am  no  one — 

u 


3o6  THE  BORDERLAND 

or,  at  least,  I  am  some  one  who  knows  and 
understands." 

"  Ah  !  "  A  woman  who  was  past  weeping 
for  herself ,  she  sat  with  her  faded  eyes  watching 
the  empty  grate,  her  head  now  and  then 
shaking  as  in  a  kind  of  palsy.  "  You  wish, 
I  know,  you  could  carry  the  picture  you've 
seen  here  and  pack  it  down  in  front  o'  the 
West-End,  and  make  'em  see  that,  while  they 
work  so  hard  to  spend  their  money,  hundreds 
here  are  on'y  waitin'  for  Gawd  to  take  'em 
home.  As  I  heard  the  minister  say  the  other 
day,  happy  are  the  poor  who  die  early  in 
London !  Yes ;  it's  easy  to  be  good,  and 
hold  up  your  head,  when  you've  got  somethin' 
to  live  for." 

"  Must  you  think  that  ?  "  he  asked,  almost 
as  lifelessly.  He  had  put  down  several  small 
packets  on  the  table,  and  was  wondering 
abstractedly  what  had  become  of  all  her 
children.  **  I  am  afraid  it  is  not  so,  Mrs. 
Smith.  Good  houses,  good  wages,  good  condi- 
tions of  hfe  do  not  bring  men  nearer  to  God. 
The  West-End  of  London  has  all  these  things, 
I  know ;  but  it  is  not  heaven  there — it  is 
perhaps  nearer  hell  than  the  slums." 

"  But  why — why  should  the  woman  bom 
in  Kensington  have  all  she  wants  in  life, 
while  the  woman  bom  in  Haggerston  starves 
and  weeps  her  few  years  away  ?  Where's 
God  to  allow  it  ?  " 


THE  BORDERLAND  307 

"  Hush — hush.  I  cannot  answer  that. 
No  man  can." 

"  I  can't  stop,  Mr.  Laverock  !  "  She  sud- 
denly swayed  up,  as  though  remembering 
"  There's  my  Ezra — I  must  think  of  him 
to-night,  if  ever."  And  she  caught  up  her 
rag  of  a  black  shawl. 

"  Ezra — yes  !  Where  is  he  ?  I  have  missed 
him  for  weeks.     I  brought  him  this  tobacco." 

"  Heaven  knows,"  she  wailed.  "  I  dunno 
what's  come  over  him  lately.  At  least,  I  do  ! 
He  ain't  been  nigh  home  all  day  again — and 
there's  his  tray  over  there.  He's  took  nothin' 
for  days.  And  there's  hardly  a  bit  o'  boot 
to  his  feet.  Since  he  got  so  thick  with  that 
Black  Sam  it's  turned  his  weak  brain.  And 
if  he  goes  marchin'  with  'em  to-night,  as  he 
will,  there's  no  sayin'.  They're  so  many 
mad  wolves  by  now.  He's  been  trod  on  twice 
this  week  in  the  scuffles.  If  Black  Sam  gets 
*em  to  the  Palace  to-night,  as  he  says  he  will, 
there'll  be  hell  to  pay." 

"  The  Palace  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Ain't  you  heard,  sir  ?  "  Fastening  her 
"  bonnet,"  she  turned  to  him  with  a  beautiful 
touch  of  pride  at  her  Ezra's  share  in  the  great 
movement.  **  He  says  there'll  be  ten  thou- 
sand men,  if  one.  If  you'd  have  heard  him 
last  night  you'd  ha'  thought  he  was  light- 
headed. I  hope  I've  kept  some  faith  in 
Providence,"  she  added,  untying  and  tying 


3o8  THE   BORDERLAND 

again  the  bonnet  strings  with  fleshless  fingers, 
"  but  I  can't  get  over  that  thought  o'  seein' 
him  fetched  home  once  too  often  on  a  shutter. 
You  read  the  papers,  sir,  don't  you  ?  " 

His  grey  eyes  had  looked  back  at  her  quite 
blankly. 

"  The  papers  ? "  Now  he  recollected. 
There  had  been  rumours  and  rumblings  in 
the  air  for  some  time  past :  rumours  that 
London's  army  of  famished  and  unemployed 
had  reached  the  end  of  its  tether  of  endur- 
ance. But  until  this  moment  it  had  had  no 
real  significance  for  him.  One  man's  trouble 
blinds  him  to  the  troubles  of  all  those  around 
him.  ''  This  is  the  night  of  their  great 
march  ?  " 

"  To-night's  the  night,  sir.  They're  goin' 
to  see  the  Queen.  And  my  Ezra's  with  'em. 
I  sat  up  here  all  last  night,  listenin'.  Seemed 
all  the  time  as  if  I  could  hear  their  feet 
goin'  and  drums  beatin' — ^just  as  when  my 
husband  was  a  soldier,  and  I  went  to  see  him 
off.  Yes,  he  served  his  time  through  two 
wars,  and  he  got  two  medals,  but  nothin' 
else  ;  an*  he  lost  the  situation  that  might 
have  kept  him  a  man.  No  one  'ud  give  him 
a  job  or  look  at  him — the  war  that  he  helped 
to  win  was  all  over  and  done  with,  you  see. 
And  he  went  from  bad  to  worse  from  that 
time.  He  had  two  British  flags  tattooed  on 
his  arm,  and  tried  to  get  'em  out,  so  that  he 


THE  BORDERLAND  309 

mightn't  be  found  dead  with  'em  on  him. 
I've  seen  him  jab  a  knife  into  'em  before  now. 
He  said  he'd  get  his  own  back  on  his  feller 
creatures,  and  he's  doin'  it.  They  feed  him 
in  prison  ;  and  they'll  have  to  bury  him  and 
me  both.     They  didn't  want  us." 

**  Where  is  he  now — ^your  husband  ?  "  he 
asked,  in  the  pause.  He  himself  seemed  to 
be  listening  while  he  talked — always  listening. 

"  I've  got  no  husban',"  she  rephed,  taking 
down  her  door  key.  "  He's  comin'  out  o' 
'ospital  next  Tuesday — ^if  they  let  him.  His 
mates  '11  meet  him,  and  inside  of  an  hour  he'll 
be  shoutin'  drunk  and  smash  some  one,  and 
they'll  '  run  him  in '  again.  That's  aU  thej^ 
can  do — keep  puttin'  'em  in  prison  and  lettin' 
'em  out.  It  don't  stop  the  goin's-on  a  bit, 
but  it  keeps  a  lot  o'  men  in  work  buildin'. 
I  sold  the  last  picture  last  week  for  eightpence. 
Then  I  applied  for  parish  rehef.  They  came 
down  here  an'  told  me  I  could  go  into  the 
infirmary  if  I  wanted,  but  there  was  no  money 
to  give  away.  I  s'pose  they  wanted  it  all  to 
keep  up  the  Empire  and  gold-laced  uniforms, 
as  Black  Sam  says.  I  couldn't  go  into  the 
infirmary  with  seven  children  starvin'  behind. 
I  oughtn't  to  have  had  any  children,  I 
know  ;  it's  not  nateral ;  but  I  had  a  husban' 
who  couldn't  take  that  in.  The  Bishop  his- 
self  says  there's  A'mighty's  blessin'  on  a  full 
fam'ly  ;   and  he  ought  to  know.     I  must  go, 


310  THE  BORDERLAND 

sir  ;  I  want  to  get  my  Ezra  out  of  it,  if  I 
can.  I've  got  the  woman  next  door  to  mind 
my  little  ones."  And  he  stepped  mechanic- 
ally out  into  the  street  with  her.  "  Yes,  this 
is  Chris'mus  Eve,  sir.  The  night,  many  years 
ago,  down  there  in  Wiltshire,  when  I  used  to 
go  with  the  other  girls  and  stand  outside  the 
Hall,  and  sing  : 

'  God  bless  the  Squire  and  his  relations, 
And  teach  us  all  our  proper  stations/ 

And  if  we  sang  as  if  we  meant  it.  Squire  'ud 
send  his  flunkey  out  with  a  bun  and  a'  orange 
for  each.  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it  now. 
No,  I  think  I  should  fling  'em  back  in  his  face, 
and  ask  him  how  he  dares  to  sit  in  church 
and  read  the  Lessons,  and  send  men  to  gaol 
for  snarin'  one  of  his  partridges — his  birds  ! — 
and  hoard  up  them  thousands  o'  pounds  while 
he  pays  his  labourers  twelve  shillin's  a  week, 
and  sacks  'em  for  not  votin'  for  the  right 
party.  But  he's  dead,  and  he  can  think  it  all 
out  while  he  burns.  I  used  to  shudder  at  them 
anarchists,  but  I  don't  now.  I  should  be  one 
myself  if  A'mighty  hadn't  put  a  timid  heart 
into  me  that  couldn't  stand  blood.  It's  this 
way  I'm  goin',  sir  !  " 

Shocked  and  silenced,  he  kept  pace  with  her, 
as  her  shrunken  little  figure  slipped  fast  along 
the  blackly-damp  pavements.  Where  he  was 
going,  and  why  he  went,  he  did  not  know ; 


THE  BORDERLAND  311 

and  he  did  not  pause  to  ask.  Down  squalid 
and  echoing  alleys  all  overhung  and  permeated 
with  the  smell  of  gasworks,  turgid  canal  water 
and  unclean  humanity — short  cuts  through 
the  most  depressing,  cramped  and  unwhole- 
some district  that  even  east  London  has  to 
show  ;  down  stretches  of  main  road,  avenues 
of  shop-windows  frosted  and  ablaze,  and  with 
scarlet  and  white  berries  catching  the  eye 
everywhere  ;  through  more  obscure,  misery- 
haunted  areas  where  the  very  gas-light  seemed 
impoverished  in  quality — and  so  on  for  what 
seemed  miles. 

Then  at  last  Ezra  Smith's  mother  drew  up, 
and  the  man  gripped  her  arm  in  a  startled  way. 

**  Where  are  we  ?  Are  you  sure  you  know  ? 
Are  you  sure  he  could  find  his  way  all  this 
distance — blind  ?  " 

"  Every  yard — every  day,"  she  said,  in  the 
same  thin,  calm  voice.  "  Black  Sam  runs 
before  the  p'lice.  He'll  snatch  a  meeting 
in  Stepney  High  Street  at  eight  o'clock  under 
their  very  eyes,  and  another  down  Hoxton  two 
hours  later.  They're  afraid  of  him  now. 
They've  hunted  a  lamb  and  found  him  a 
lion." 

**  Who  is  he  ?  I  mean,  what  is  he  ?  That 
is  the  point." 

"  He  was  a  packer,  with  eight  children, 
and  a  pound  a  week — when  in  work."  She 
hurried  on  a  little  way,  peering  in  all  direc- 


312  THE  BORDERLAND 

tions.  "  They  sold  up  his  home  to  pay  his 
rent  and  taxes.  And  one  day  he  marched 
into  the  p'Hce-court  an'  demanded  that  the 
State  should  find  him  work  or  keep  his  fam'ly, 
as  he'd  helped  to  keep  the  State.  They  threw 
him  out ;  but  he  went  again  and  again.  And 
that's  how  he  made  his  name.  And  he  says 
if  the  people  kept  out  o'  the  pubs  for  on'y  a 
month,  an'  stood  square  against  the  sweaters, 
England  'ud  have  a  right  to  call  itself  a 
Christian  country.  It's  him  that's  got  on  my 
Ezra's  brain.  Ezra  can't  see — he  on'y  hears 
the  talk,  and  draws  the  picturs  in  his  own 
mind." 

They  turned  a  comer  ;  and  all  was  changed. 
The  mother  of  "  Lamps  Out  "  ran  forward 
with  a  little  cry.  Following  her,  John  Lave- 
rock found  himself  drawn  into  the  outer  fringe 
of  a  crowd  such  as  he  had  never  seen  before — 
not  for  size,  but  for  silence. 

It  was  massed  by  the  light  of  carried  lamps 
under  a  triple  span  of  high  railway  arches, 
over  which  trains  thundered  now  and  then 
and  drowned  the  booming  voice  of  the  man 
who  was  speaking.  He  was  a  mere  speck  of  a 
figure  from  this  distance,  and  to  get  a  foot 
nearer  was  impossible ;  but  it  was  Black 
Sam — ^the  man  with  the  arresting  eyes,  the 
thrilling  movements  of  arm  and  head,  the 
organ-voice  that  went  through  the  brain  and 
left  there  a  memory  not  to  be  forgotten. 


THE  BORDERLAND  313 

"  ...  Is  that  the  truth  ?  Don't  answer 
me  ;  silence  '11  do,  or  the  poHce  '11  say  we  dis- 
turbed the  peace.  The  peace  of  what  ?  This 
London,  that  doesn't  want  to  know  of  us — ^that 
doesn't  want  a  skeleton  grinning  past  the 
Christmas  tree  in  its  windows.  What  have 
you  got,  on  this  Eve  of  the  Day  when  Christ 
was  born  to  teach  us  how  hard  it  is  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  His  heaven  ?  Some  of  you 
have  had  work  nine  months  out  of  the  twelve, 
and  now  you're  grumbling — disgusting,  dis- 
contented beasts  that  you  are  !  Some  of  you 
have  been  so  blessed  that  you've  got  a  bit  of 
beef  or  a  sack  of  coal  from  the  Church  that 
runs  the  world  in  Christ's  name  ;  the  Church 
that  has  millions  of  money  locked  up  in 
landed  estate  and  property  and  funds,  and 
that  can  afford  to  pay  its  bishops  thousands 
a  year.  Thousands  ! — to  men  who  stand  up 
to  set  you  and  me  the  example  of  how  to  live 
to  the  j^lory  of  God !  If  God  looks  down  on 
London  to-night — there,  I'U  say  no  more  of 
that.    You  know  the  worth  of  religion  now. 

"  Now  !  We  know  our  own  minds  at  last — 
or  most  of  us  do.  The  world  won't  budge 
for  us ;  we've  seen  that.  We've  marched 
our  feet  off  to  Hyde  Park  and  back,  and  we 
can  go  on  doing  it.  It's  something  for  London 
to  look  at,  and  for  the  papers  to  write  about. 
But  we're  going  to  do  it  once  more,  in  our 
own  way  this  time,  come  what  may.    We 


314  THE  BORDERLAND 

may  be  beaten  ;  but  one  day — one  day  we 
shall  win  ! 

*'  Can  you  hear  me  ?  I  read  the  paper 
this  morning — read  articles  written  by  men 
sitting  in  easy  chairs  in  warm  offices,  with 
cigarettes  in  their  mouths.  What  did  they 
tell  us  ?  They  tell  us  of  booming  trade,  of 
growing  contentment,  of  wonderful  progress 
all  over  the  civilized  world.  It  may  be  so  ; 
but,  if  so,  you  and  I  and  thousands  more 
are  the  faggots  that  go  to  feed  that  furnace. 
Nothing  comes  our  way — nothing  save  the 
yearly  certainty  that  we  shall  be  out  of 
work  sooner  or  later.  But  now  I'll  read 
you  something  that  was  alongside  those 
articles  :  the  words  of  a  British  statesman 
at  a  meeting  last  night — and  British  states- 
men don't  paint  with  red  colours  when  white 
will  do.  Remember,  he  is  not  talking  to  you 
and  me.  He  is  addressing  a  wealthy  Institu- 
tion of  scholars  who  deal  only  with  facts. 

"  *  The  truth  must  be  told,  however  un- 
pleasant. There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that, 
as  the  result  of  insanitary  and  over-crowded 
dwellings,  of  meagre  and  artificially-preserved 
and  adulterated  foods,  and,  above  all,  of 
lack  of  employment,  the  condition  of  the 
East  and  South  of  this  city  of  London  is 
infinitely  worse  than  it  was  twenty  years 
ago,  when  a  similar  investigation  was  made. 
The  average  of  health  there  is  lower  than 


THE  BORDERLAND  315 

it  has  ever  been  in  modern  times.  There 
is  visible  racial  degeneration.  The  women 
of  the  poorer  classes  are  forced  to  work  at 
times  when  work  is  the  ruin  of  maternity 
and  the  death  of  the  nation's  best  material. 
Formerly  we  had  only  a  winter  industrial 
trouble,  which  we  tided  over  somehow  by 
the  help  of  those  abominable  Mansion  House 
Funds  ' — mark  that  word  on  the  lips  of  a 
statesman  !  *  To-day  the  distress  goes  on 
throughout  the  whole  year.  Imperial  apathy 
is  breeding  sheer  barbarism  in  the  slums — 
that  Borderland  that  widens  and  widens  ; 
and  through  that  fact  we  shall  fall  as  surely 
as  slothful  Rome  fell  through  the  barbarians 
of  the  North.' 

"  I  mustn't  speak  for  long,  maties  !  Time 
is  too  precious.  There  are  a  dozen  other 
meetings  being  held  at  this  moment,  and 
this  banner  I'm  pointing  at  ought  to  be 
at  the  head  of  ten  thousand  men,  two  abreast. 
'  Life's  Handicap,'  it  says.  And  it's  to  be 
run  off  to-night,  when  all  the  money  and 
the  glitter  are  about.  And  the  course — 
from  Whitechapel  straight  as  a  die  to  Buck- 
ingham Palace. 

"  We  don't  want  anything  more  to  do 
with  Prime  Ministers.  No ! — we're  going 
straight  to  the  Queen  herself  this  time,  just 
as  we  are,  without  any  leaders  or  programme. 
This  isn't  a  Lord  Mayor's  Show — ^it's  a  show 


3i6  THE  BORDERLAND 

of  starving  human  bodies — '  beings  erect 
upon  two  legs,  and  bearing  all  the  outward 
semblance  of  men,  and  not  of  monsters  ' — 
as  youVe  heard  it  said.  The  police  have 
given  us  warning  that  we  mustn't  go  beyond 
the  City  boundary ;  and  we've  answered 
the  police  that  we  must,  because  there  is  no 
other  way  of  reaching  her. 

"  The  Queen  !  She  has  done  her  bit  for 
the  East  End  twice  over,  hasn't  she  ?  Well, 
we  take  the  right  to  go  and  thank  her  for 
ourselves,  and  she'll  see  us  in  the  flesh  as  we 
are,  and  perhaps  we  can  make  England  reaHze 
through  her  to-night  that  we  really  are 
living  units,  and  not  the  pariah  dogs  of 
London.  They  tell  me  I  don't  see  things  in 
their  true  light  and  proportion  ;  but  I  can 
see  all  you  standing  before  me  this  Christmas 
Eve  ;  and  you're  the  solidest  fact  in  answer. 
And  if  not,  it's  enough  for  me  to  see  my  own 
children,  and — and  sometimes  to  have  to 
turn  and  look  away  from  them,  in  case  I 
might.  .  .  . 

"  All  together  !  Buckingham  Palace  by 
nine  o'clock  to-night !  The  King  and  Queen 
are  there,  we  know.  The  Queen  '11  come 
out  to  look  at  us,  if  she  knows  we  mean  no 
harm.     Let  her  hear  this  ! — one,  two,  three  !  " 

And  a  crackling  roar  went  up  that  seemed 
to  rend  the  envelope  of  earth's  air,  and  to 
sweep    John    Laverock    off    his    feet.    The 


THE  BORDERLAND  317 

crowd  faced  about  and  poured  past  him  like 
a  tide  suddenly  loosed.  He  had  lost  his 
clutch  upon  the  arm  of  Smith's  mother ; 
she  had  been  carried  away,  a  mere  straw  in 
the  eddy.  Strong  himself,  he  stood  his 
ground,  buffeted  this  way  and  that,  until  he 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  Black  Sam  again. 
And  there  beside  him,  his  bhnd  face  turned 
up,  shouting  deliriously  as  long  as  his  lungs 
would  hold  out,  was  "  Lamps  Out  "  Smith  of 
Haggerston. 

No  more.  When  he  had  fought  his  way 
to  the  wall  of  the  last  arch,  they  were  gone, 
banners  and  all.  He  stood  a  moment,  over- 
whelmed ;  and  then  fought  his  way  back 
into  the  heart  of  the  hurrying  crowd  of  men. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

AT  twenty  minutes  past  eight  that 
Christmas  Eve,  when  over  London  lay 
a  spreading  dome  of  reflected  light,  and 
laughter  echoed  from  lip  to  lip  in  the  crowded 
streets,  a  sinister,  disconsonant  thing  hap- 
pened. A  great  drab  snake  began  to  wind 
its  way  out  from  the  East  End. 

Vehicles  drew  aside  ;  the  crowds  poured 
to  the  kerbs  for  a  sight.  "  Here  they  are — 
here  they  come  !  "  went  up  the  whispers  ; 
and  the  snake  was  winding  by.  It  was 
composed  of  a  mass  of  human  units,  who 
claimed  "  the  right  to  live."  Just  that — 
"  the  right  to  live." 

They  raised  no  shouts — kept  the  same 
silence  ;  most  of  them  had  their  jaws  con- 
sciously, stubbornly,  set  as  for  an  effort  yet 
to  come.  Their  myriad  feet  upon  the  mud- 
carpeted  roadway  made  very  little  sound — 
an  imaginative  man  might  have  closed  his 
eyes  a  moment  and  thought  of  the  phantom 
march  past  of  the  "  Deathless  Army."  If 
any  man  did,  it  was  John  Laverock,  whose 
soul,  in  travail  for  itself,  could  yet  feel  the 

318 


THE  BORDERLAND  319 

nation's  shame  as  typified  by  the  thing 
that  crawled  out  of  the  East  that  night. 

To  see  the  Queen  !  Or,  at  least,  to  reach 
her  Palace.  On  they  tramped,  as  orderly, 
as  solemn,  as  much  in  earnest  as  children 
"  playing  at  soldiers."  They  meant  no  ill 
to  any  one — Black  Sam  had  given  it  as 
his  last  word  at  the  start ;  and  there  were 
no  collection  boxes  to-night.  To  see  the 
Queen  herself — that  was  all. 

And  at  the  head  swayed  that  great  crimson 
sheet  with  the  odd  device  :  "  Life's  Handi- 
cap !  Work  first — Justice  second — Content- 
ment third."  Sweating,  darkly  haggard, 
grimly  triumphant,  Black  Sam  bore  one  of 
the  poles  in  a  socket  at  his  waist ;  and  close 
at  his  side,  clutching  the  leader's  pocket 
flap,  stepping  out  as  in  a  sort  of  suppressed 
ecstasy,  went  "  Lamps  Out  "  Smith  of  Hagger- 
ston.  Every  now  and  again  the  bigger  man 
parted  his  teeth  to  mutter  inspiringly. 

"  Keep  steady,  lad ! — you're  well  in  it. 
They  won't  stop  us  to-night.  You'll  look 
straight  up  at  her  with  them  blind  eyes. 
Fall  out  for  no  one.    You'll  do  it." 

Tramp,  tramp  !  Left,  right ;  left,  right ! 
And  now  the  thickening  crowd  on  either 
flank  kept  straining  eyes  ahead  as  if  to  see 
an  opposing  snake  advancing  in  the  distance. 
And  soon  an  indefinite  murmur  was  in  the 
air  :    "  There  they  are  !  "     Black  Sam  heard 


320  THE  BORDERLAND 

it,  and  turned  his  head  to  look  at  the  winding 
length  behind. 

"  Yes,  there  they  are,"  he  said.  "  And 
here  are  we.  They  haven't  got  body  and 
soul  at  stake — ^but  we  have.     Straight  on  !  " 

*'  Straight  on  !  "  caUed  ''  Lamps  Out  " 
at  the  top  of  his  husky  voice.  There  was 
nothing  that  he  could  see ;  but  maybe, 
as  John  Laverock  had  often  thought,  he  had 
a  sixth  sense  denied  to  the  rest.  He  was 
feeling  like  a  soldier  who  had  caught  his  first 
real  glimpse  of  the  enemy.  He  stepped  out 
faster  in  his  sodden,  squelching  travesties 
of  shoes. 

There  it  was  now,  just  ahead  :  a  solid, 
motionless  black  patch  stretched  across  the 
roadway  by  the  Aldgate  Pump.  A  triple 
line  of  mounted  police  first,  and  behind  them 
a  force  on  foot.  .  .  .  The  City  was  barred 
to-night  to  men  who  came  not  singly,  but  in 
battahons.  They  could  not  reach  the  Palace 
by  that  route — which  meant  that  they  were 
not  to  reach  it  by  any  known  route.  The 
police  had  said  so,  and  had  given  a  good 
reason  ;  and  there  should  have  been  an  end 
of  it,  only  Black  Sam  and  a  few  others  as 
desperate  had  thought  otherwise.  And  may- 
be there  is  nothing  quite  so  awe-inspiring, 
potent  and  compelling  as  a  massed  force  of 
British  police,  horse  and  foot. 

It  kept  still  and  dignified  and  compact. 


THE   BORDERLAND  321 

There  was  still  a  space  of  yards  between, 
when  the  neck  of  the  snake  betrayed  a 
wavering,  disheartened  movement.  The 
great  banner  swayed  and  rocked  uncertainly 
as  Black  Sam  turned  again  with  incredulous 
scorn  glittering  in  his  black  eyes.  Now 
seemed  the  tactful,  supreme  moment  when 
so  much  may  hinge  upon  so  little.  A  mounted 
officer  trotted  a  few  calm  paces,  drew  up, 
and  called  out  pacifically  enough. 

"  Now,  my  good  fellows,  you  had  your 
warning.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Warning  be  damned.  We're  men,  starv- 
ing at  Christmas !  " 

"  I  can't  help  that.  You've  come  so  far. 
Turn  round  and  get  home  quietly,  and  let 
us  do  the  same  ;  that's  all  we  want,  I'm 
sure.  You  can't  march  beyond  this  point. 
Good-night,  aU !  " 

Thick,  dull  silence.  The  watching  crowd 
held  its  breath.  The  great  drab  snake  seemed 
easing  up  for  second  thoughts  all  along  the 
line.  Then  a  subtle  congesting  movement 
stiffened  it  again.  A  hoarse,  clarion  voice 
rang  back  from  the  head. 

"  On !  You're  not  afraid  ?  Now  or 
never  !  "  And  "  Lamps  Out  "  Smith  echoed 
it  dehriously.     "  Now  or  never  !  " 

The  black  patch  ahead  moved  back  a 
little,  and  advanced  again  in  a  calm,  com- 
pact mass.    The  horses  reared  instinctively, 


322  THE   BORDERLAND 

as  the  contact  point  was  reached ;  women 
screamed,  men  were  shouting.  The  long 
line  was  wavering  again,  and  falling  back  in 
disorder — ^ingrained  respect  for,  or  fear  of, 
the  Law.  It  re-formed  and  surged  on  afresh, 
as  Black  Sam's  booming,  blasting  voice  rose 
above  all  the  din. 

But  slowly— slowly  back  again  it  went, 
the  horses'  great  smooth  flanks,  turned  side- 
ways, forcing  irresistibly — ramparts  of  flesh 
and  bone — while  their  riders  looked  down 
impassively.  It  was  all  but  over — a  battle 
all  but  bloodlessly  won  and  lost — when  Black 
Sam's  glaring  eyes  focussed  a  momentary 
gap  just  ahead— the  way  into  the  sacred 
mile.  His  organ- voice  swelled  out  in  the 
hopeless  confusion. 

"  Not  a  man  among  us  ?  Not  one  ?  One, 
two,  three  '.—first  past  the  Pump— show  'em 
we  mean  it !     Forward  !  " 

The  banner  had  fallen.  He  panted  some- 
thing to  "  Lamps  Out  "  Smith  who,  kicked 
and  flung  back  a  dozen  times,  had  found 
the  flap  of  his  coat  again,  and  hung  on.  With 
a  crazy  cheer  "Lamps  Out"  let  go,  and 
plunged  ahead  into  what  for  him  was  a  sea  of 
darkness. 

On— on,  followed  by  a  few,  fighting  like  a 
man  possessed  at  arms  he  could  not  see, 
shouting  wildly  :  "  We've  done  it !  This 
way  to  the  Queen  !  "     Yes,  they  had  done 


THE  BORDERLAND  323 

it ;  and  for  a  thrilling  moment  the  issue  swung 
in  doubt,  and  plain  courage  might  have  turned 
the  scale  and  made  history.  But  British 
poHce  seldom  lose  their  heads  in  emergency, 
knowing  that  ten  organized  men  are  superior 
to  fifty  unorganized  men.  There  was  a 
quick,  revolving  movement  of  the  third 
mounted  Hne.  The  momentary  gap  was 
closed  up  and  obUterated ;  the  few  inside 
were  lost  to  sight.  The  drab  snake  was 
being  turned  upon  itself  and  driven  back  in 
grim  earnest.  It  became  a  rout,  remorselessly 
followed  up  by  the  mounted  men  and  by  the 
pushing,  shouting  crowd.     All  was  over. 

And  behind  ?  The  gradual  lull,  and  the 
knot  of  foot  constables  bending  to  peer  at  a 
huddled,  stunted  figure  that  had  been  trodden 
into  the  mire  by  hoofs  and  feet,  and  carried 
into  a  side  street.  Of  all  in  that  forlorn 
charge  he  was  the  one  remaining.  Black 
Sam  had  fought  a  way  through,  and  escaped  ; 
others  had  been  escorted  to  obhvion  by 
force.  ''  Lamps  Out "  Smith  had  simply 
plunged  on  until  knocked  down. 

They  waited,  chatting  among  themselves. 
They  had  sent  for  an  ambulance,  but  it  had 
gone  in  the  wrong  direction.  Just  before 
it  arrived  there  was  a  little  commotion. 
A  man's  unsteady  voice — ^it  was  John  Lave- 
rock's— arose  from  the  rear. 

"  Stand  back,  please  !     Clear  a  way — it's 


324  THE  BORDERLAND 

his  mother !  "  She  had  marched  with 
the  snake,  and  he  had  found  her  and  led  her 
to  the  spot.  She  tottered  slowly  forward, 
and  was  allowed  to  kneel  beside  her  boy. 
She  smoothed  the  wisps  of  muddy  hair  from 
his  face,  and  drew  up  his  head  to  her  flat 
breast.  She  looked  around  at  the  uniformed 
figures,  and  spoke  without  a  tremor. 

"  Yes,  sirs,  he  had  a  mother — like  your- 
selves !  "  She  looked  low  into  his  face  again, 
and  back  at  them.  John  Laverock  had 
one  of  her  hands  in  his  shaking  grasp.  "  Not 
your  fault,  sirs  ;  you  couldn't  help  it.  It's 
all  over  now.  He  couldn't  go  that  way  to 
see  the  Queen,  as  he  thought ;  and  so — and 
so — p'raps  he's  gone  another  way  to  see 
the  great  Judge  of  us  all.    And  you  and  I " 

"  No,  no  !  "  John  Laverock  whispered, 
plucking  her  shoulder.  "  He's  not  dead. 
Don't  say  that.     Look  !  " 

The  ambulance  had  come  up.  It  waited 
a  second.  She  had  looked  down  into  her 
son's  face  again,  and  gave  a  queer  little  cry. 
"  Lamps  Out's "  fingers  had  wavered  up 
and  felt  for  hers.  He  spoke,  as  to  himself, 
still  in  that  ecstasy.  "  Fust  past  the  Pump  ! 
I  done  it — I  done  it !  " 

"  Home  !  "  the  Httle  woman  said  with 
dignity,  as  she  rose  and  drew  her  old  shawl 
around  her.  "  Bring  him  home,  please. 
Straight  home." 


THE  BORDERLAND  325 

Another  uncertain  pause.  John  Laverock 
bent  back  for  a  brief  whisper  with  the  officer 
in  charge.  There  was  no  home,  he  had  to 
explain.     The  officer  cleared  his  throat. 

"  That's  all  right,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"  Blind,  is  he  ?  Then  it's  a  stroke  of  luck, 
perhaps.  Come  along,  mother  !  We're  going 
to  see  if  the  doctors  can  do  something  for 
his  eyes,  all  under  one.  I  shouldn't  be  a 
bit  surprised.  You  don't  want  him  blind 
and  lame,  too'' 

She  gave  way  mutely.  John  Laverock 
holding  her  arm,  the  little  procession  wended 
its  way  by  back  streets  to  the  hospital. 
And  there  they  stripped  the  rags  off  "  Lamps 
Out,"  and  stretched  him  upon  a  couch  in 
the  "  Accident "  ward.  Outside,  in  the 
corridor,  John  Laverock  and  the  mother  stood 
silent,  waiting  the  verdict.  It  came  within 
an  hour. 

"  Small  bone  broken — now  set.  Fully  con- 
scious. No  danger  whatever.  No  apparent 
possibility  of  restoration  of  sight." 

Soon  they  were  allowed  through.  "  Lamps 
Out "  lay  on  a  bed  the  Hke  of  which  he  had 
never  touched  before,  in  a  spotless  ward 
where  grey-robed  women  flitted  to  and  fro 
as  on  feet  of  velvet. 

"  Better,  boy  ?  "  John  Laverock  softly 
asked,  touching  his  forehead. 

"  Better,"  was  the  sleepy  answer.    "  Rum- 


326  THE  BORDERLAND 

bustical  go,  ain't  it  ?  Shall  miss  my  'bacca 
a  bit." 

A  little  later,  John  Laverock  stooped  for 
what  he  felt  might  perchance  be  his  last 
look  at  "  Lamps  Out,"  pressed  the  hand  of 
the    mother    sitting    there,    and    stole    out. 

And  so  ended  the  march  of  the  men  who 
claimed  "  the  right  to  live." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

"   TUST  in  time.    Some  one  to    see  you, 

%f  Mr.  Laverock,"  said  Mrs.  Blinco,  in 
tones  hushed  as  with  mystery  that  she  had 
waited  to  share.  Besides,  not  many  times 
more  would  his  key  turn  in  that  door. 

"  Some  one  ?  "  he  repeated.  At  times,  of 
late,  he  seemed  to  have  a  difficulty  in  bringing 
his  mind  round  to  grasp  the  merest  common- 
place. It  was  just  after  dusk.  Nearly 
another  week  had  been  notched.  It  wanted 
but  two  days  to  the  close  of  the  happiest  and 
saddest  year  of  his  Ufe. 

'"Sh!"  She  nodded  and  pointed.  "I 
showed  her  in.  Some  young  person.  She 
seemed  so  flurried  and  anxious — I  thought 
there  was  no  harm.  I  said  you  might  be  in 
to  tea  at  any  moment." 

For  a  moment  his  heart  had  taken  a  series 
of  sick  leaps,  but  sank  again.  Mrs.  Blinco's 
brief  description  could  not  fit  the  one  and  only 
woman  who  moved  with  him  invisibly  night 
and  day.  She  was  always  calm — and  calmest 
in  her  ordeals. 

He  went  in,  closing  the  door  at  once  in  a 

S27 


328  THE   BORDERLAND 

way  that  moved  Mrs.  Blinco  to  an  access  of 
disgust.  A  feminine  figure  stood  nervously- 
near  the  window.  He  stumbled  to  turn  up 
the  gas  before  he  looked  at  her.  Then  he 
saw.  It  was  the  tactful,  smiling  little  maid 
who,  months  ago,  had  so  often  answered  his 
knock  at  Miss  Valj can's  residence.  One  look 
at  her  face,  and  he  stood  prepared. 

"  What  is  it,  Mary  ?  "  he  asked  quietly, 
at  once. 

"  I  thought — I  thought  you  should  know, 
sir  ! — oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  thought !  I 
took  it  upon  myself  to  slip  across.  Mr. 
Bede " 

*'  No  !  "  He  took  a  stride,  with  that  half- 
shout. 

"  Yes  !  "  She  put  up  her  hands,  and  burst 
into  a  storm  of  tears  that  nothing  could  stop. 
The  man  stood,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
but  unable  to  take  any  action.  Minutes 
had  passed  before  his   voice   would  sound. 

"  Tell  me ! "  And  the  streaming  eyes 
looked  at  him. 

"  He  had  a  cough  at — at  three  o'clock, 
and  fell  forward.  It  seemed  the  last.  The 
doctor  came  at  half  past,  and  I  heard  Miss 
Valjean  cry  out.  The  doctor  went  out  for  a 
minute,  and  I  heard  her  ask  him  if  there 
was  anything  in  the  world  that  he  wanted, 
and  he  should  have  it.  I  couldn't  hear,  but 
I   think  he  said   '  Louis.'     She   opened  the 


THE  BORDERLAND  329 

door  to  call  me,  and  I  heard  him  whisper  it 
twice  quite  plain  :  '  Tell  John  !  Tell  John  !  ' 
And  she  burst  out  crying  like  a  mad  thing, 
and  ran  up  to  her  room.  She  has  been  so 
very  strange  lately ;  she  won't  let  me  even 
go  upstairs,  if  she  can  help  it,  and  is  always 
watching  me  about.  I  think  I  know,  sir — 
I  couldn't  help  knowing  !  And  when  she 
sent  me  with  the  telegram  to  fetch  Mr.  Louis, 
and  said  not  a  word  about  you,  I — I  thought 
I  must  come  straight  to  you,  sir,  whatever 
happened.  I  must  go ;  perhaps  I've  done 
wrong  !  " 

"  No — ^no  !  "  He  struggled  as  against  a 
stupor.  "  Three  o'clock — and  now  it  is  past 
five.  .  .  God  bless  you  for  telling  me.  I 
could  never  have  forgiven  her — nor  myself. 
I'll  come  !     I  can  act  a  He  if  I  must.  Bede  !  " 

She  flitted  out,  the  man  just  behind  her  ; 
and  Mrs.  Blinco  drew  back  just  in  time.  For 
once  Mrs.  Blinco  dared  not  speak,  but  what 
it  cost  her  to  contain  herself  only  she  knew. 
John  Laverock  stood  holding  the  street  door 
ajar,  hke  a  man  tensely  counting  the  beats 
of  time  as  they  passed.  Then,  of  a  sudden, 
he  banged  the  door  without  a  word,  and  was 
gone  too.  Mrs.  Blinco' s  reflections  in  the 
kitchen,  if  silent,  were  tremendous. 

Walking  steadily,  he  reached  the  house. 
With  outward  calm  he  touched  the  beU. 
There  was  a  pause — as  if  Mary,  the  listening 


330  THE  BORDERLAND 

maid,  had  thrilled  and  hesitated  to  answer. 
He  rang  again,  and  his  gaze  through  the 
glass  panels  showed  him  Miss  Valjean  coming 
slowly  down  the  stairs.  Ere  she  reached 
the  foot  Mary  had  run  forward.  He  stepped 
in,  and  stood,  his  hat  -  lifted.  And  back  at 
him  the  swollen  eyes  in  Miss  Valjean's  face 
stared  as  at  a  ghost.  For  a  moment  the 
recollection  of  all  else  seemed  to  slip  from 
her,  and  in  those  eyes  was  almost  a  haunting 
terror. 

Then  she  had  made  her  effort,  and  was 
turning.  Even  at  such  a  moment  her  lips 
had  set ;  she  was  turning  to  go  back  with  a 
semblance  of  cold  majesty  that  refused  to 
speak.  But  not  before  she  had  looked  at 
Mary's  conscious  face — as  pale  as  her  own. 
She  knew. 

They  watched  her.  She  had  paused  on 
the  first  landing.  She  seemed  to  reach  up 
her  arms  as  in  an  agony  that  longed  to  find 
vent,  but  dared  not.  Then  she  had  gone  on — 
up  toward  her  own  room.    She  knew. 

The  way  was  clear.  With  a  nod  to  the 
troubled  maid,  he  tip-toed  up  the  stair  in 
turn.  He  would  not  knock.  He  stood  out- 
side the  curtained  door  in  silent  prayer  a 
moment,  and  then  turned  the  handle  and 
pushed  so  gently  as  to  prevent  the  portiere 
rings  clashing.     He  was  inside. 

The  lamp  burned,  its  crimson  shade  tilted 


THE  BORDERLAND  331 

aside.  A  woman,  who  looked  like  a  nurse, 
stood  there  as  though  she  had  not  stirred 
for  hours  ;  and  the  doctor  sat  grave  and 
still,  his  hand  framing  his  chin.  Both  turned 
silently  to  look  at  him,  and  then  looked 
back  at  the  velvet-coated  figure  sunk  in  the 
cushions.  It  just  stirred — the  breast  just 
heaved  in  quick,  never-ceasing,  nearly  sound- 
less little  gasps,  like  that  of  a  cage-bird  dying 
upon  its  perch.  He  had  not  been  moved 
from  his  chair. 

Fighting  for  self-control,  the  bubbles  rising 
in  his  throat,  John  Laverock  put  down  his 
hat  and  stole  near,  and  stood  with  hands 
folded  before  him,  looking  down.  The  doctor 
glanced  up  at  him,  saw  his  twitching  muscles, 
and  frowned  a  warning.  It  sufficed.  He 
became  very  still,  with  only  a  click  of  his 
teeth  now  and  then. 

Bede's  flowers,  that  were  sent  from  the 
church  with  a  verse  attached  every  morning, 
stood  on  the  table  beside  him.  There,^  too, 
was  the  jar  of  cigarette  tobacco ;  and  one 
half-consumed  little  white  tube  lay  near  by, 
just  as  his  grasp  had  relaxed  upon  it  and  let 
it  fall.  A  long  time  John  Laverock  looked 
as  with  unseeing  eyes  at  that  little  rehc  of  the 
man's  comfort  in  life  ;  and  then,  half  un- 
knowingly, he  slid  out  his  hand  and  took 
it.  Almost  simultaneously  there  was  a  partly 
stifled   Httle    sound   behind   him ;     and   he 


332  THE   BORDERLAND 

knew  that  Alice  Valjean  had  stolen  in,  and 
stood  there  with  a  handkerchief  to  her  lips, 
and  that  she  had  seen. 

After  that,  for  a  time,  no  one  moved.  The 
thrown-back  face  with  the  half-parted  lips 
on  the  cushions  seemed  that  of  a  man  who, 
while  not  asleep,  yet  saw  something  and 
heard  something  in  his  detached  state  that 
linked  them  through  himself  with  the  life 
beyond.  His  great  dark  eyes  were  all  but 
closed.  Now  and  then  his  delicate  nostrils 
quivered,  and  he  seemed  about  to  give  one 
long  sigh  and  yield  up  the  struggle  to  remain 
with  them  a  little  longer.  And  then,  as  they 
held  their  breath,  the  far-away  sound  beneath 
his  velvet  jacket — the  sound  as  of  wavelets 
draining  down  a  distant  pebbly  beach — 
became  audible  yet  again.  It  was  answered 
by  the  tick  of  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Round  and  round  went  the  hands,  till  they 
reached  seven  o'clock.  Louis  Valj  can's  train 
was  on  the  way,  but  it  could  not  reach  London 
yet. 

The  nurse  stirred,  and  looked  inquiringly 
at  the  doctor.  He  nodded.  She  dipped 
a  feather  in  something  and  put  it  to  Bede's 
lips.  They  moved  in  feeble  response.  His 
glazed  eyes  unclosed  a  little  ;  he  seemed  to 
feel  faintly  surprised.  He  was  looking  at 
them,  and  yet  as  past  them.  The  doctor 
motioned  to  John  Laverock. 


THE  BORDERLAND  333 

"  Speak  to  him." 

He  could  not.  He  bent.  The  bubble 
swelled  and  broke  in  his  throat  again  and 
again.  The  panting  went  on,  and  Bede's 
eyes  were  looking  lovingly  up  into  his ;  but 
the  agony  of  the  man  who  tried  to  call  him 
by  name,  and  could  not,  for  fear  there  should 
come  no  response,  was  something  that  Bede 
was  not  to  know.  John  Laverock  kissed  the 
passive,  pure  forehead,  and  was  drawn 
back  by  the  doctor,  who  motioned  to  Miss 
Valjean  in  turn.  She  came  slowly  forward — 
looked — and  drew  up  her  hands  to  her  breast. 
What  passed  John  Laverock  did  not  know. 
He  had  turned  away. 

Once  more  the  feather  was  dipped,  and  put 
to  Bede's  lips.  The  great  dark  eyes  swung 
round  a  little,  still  as  in  surprise  at  their 
presence  and  their  silence  ;  and  then  reclosed. 
For  near  half  an  hour  more  the  quick  heaving 
of  his  breast  went  on.  And  then  the  fingers 
of  one  hand  slowly  spread  themselves  out. 
The  doctor  stood  up. 

"  Yes,  he  is  going,"  he  said,  in  a  voice 
that  was  hardly  a  voice. 

No  one  moved.  A  moment  more,  and 
Bede's  lips  parted  wide.  A  long,  thin,  strain- 
ing sound  came  from  them — ^like  the  strenuous 
answer  to  a  call.  He  looked  out  straight 
before  him,  with  a  fixed,  imploring  look. 
He  saw  John  Laverock ;    he  gazed  at  him  as 


334  THE  BORDERLAND 

at  one  he  had  known,  and  forgotten,  and 
suddenly  remembered  again.  He  put  out 
both  his  hands  as  to  take  something,  and 
John  Laverock  gripped  them,  and  cried  out — 
"  Yes,  yes,  Bede — Fll  meet  you — and  tell 
you  !  "     And  then 


<(    )C 


'Sh  !  ...  He  is  gone,"  the  doctor  said. 

%  9ic  4c  4e  4: 

A  little  later,  as  John  Laverock  turned, 
the  door  opened,  and  Louis  Valjean  stood 
there.  He  had  come  just  too  late.  The  two 
men  gripped  hands  without  a  word.  For 
just  a  moment  Louis  looked  into  his  friend's 
eyes.  And  then  John  Laverock  was  passing 
on  down  the  stair.  At  the  foot  he  drew  back 
to  make  way  for  the  minister,  who  had  been 
away  from  home  when  summoned.  Again 
no  word  passed — only  the  look. 

A  little  later  yet — it  might  have  been 
half  an  hour — as  he  knelt  alone  by  the  table 
in  the  dark  drawing-room,  he  felt  his  arm 
touched.  He  looked  up,  in  the  awe  as  of  a 
wondrous  dream.     It  was  Miss  Valjean. 

The  light  from  the  hall  shone  upon  her 
rigid  face.  She  was  looking  before  her — 
not  down  at  him — ^with  a  look  that  he  had 
not  seen  on  her  face  before.  She  spoke 
in  a  slow  voice,  subdued  with  her  grief, 
heavy  with  suffering. 

"  What — what  was  it  that  you  may  have 
to  tell  my  brother — when  you  meet  ?  " 


THE   BORDERLAND  335 

He  did  not  answer.  He  bent  his  head 
again.  In  this  hour,  all  the  past  was  blotted 
out  by  the  shadow  of  death. 

Her  voice  came  again. 

"Tell  me — as  you  would  have  told  Bede. 
.  .  .  What  was  she  to  you — that  woman  whom 
you  won  and  lost  ?  " 

And  he  answered  in  the  quietest  of  voices — 
"  The  light  of  my  life — the  hope  of  the  years 
before  me  !  " 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  she  touched 
his  arm.     "  Come  !  "  she  whispered. 

He  rose.  He  was  following  her  up  the 
stair.  He  knew  nothing  but  that  something 
in  that  word  had  told  him  he  was  on  the 
threshold  of  a  revelation. 

He  followed  her  up  the  second  flight,  and 
beyond  that  again  to  a  little  landing  that 
his  feet  had  never  touched  until  now.  There 
was  a  door — a  closed  door.  She  stood 
with  her  hand  upon  the  panels. 

"  He  would  have  wished  it,"  she  said 
softly.  "  For  your  sake,  as  I  thought,  I 
tried  to  part  her  from  you.  .  .  .  God,  through 
my  dead  brother,  commands  me  to  give  her 
back  to  you." 

The  door  swung  open.  With  a  cry  the 
man  put  out  his  arms.  There  was  a  little 
answering  cry — a  moment  of  agony  and 
hesitation — and  Amber  Lou  was  between 
them. 


336  THE   BORDERLAND 

The  month  had  gone  ;    and  Miss  Valjean 
was  answered. 


She  closed  the  door  upon  them,  and  went 
downstairs.  The  minister  was  just  shaking 
hands  in  good-bye  with  Louis  Valjean  in  the 
hall.     She  faced  them,  a  finger  to  her  lips. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  said.  "  I  want  you — and 
Louis  too."  And  she  drew  them  into  the 
dark  drawing-room.  And  she  stood  there, 
and  told  them,  without  one  tremor  ;  and  it 
ended  just  as  John  Laverock's  feet  sounded 
upon  the  stair  above.  "  He  is  coming,"  she 
whispered.  "  This  is  the  hour  of  reparation. 
Louis,  stand  by  me,  as  witness.  The  banns 
were  read  thrice !  ...  John,  call  her — 
the  woman  you  love.  You  were  two.  The 
minister  is  here,  waiting  to  make  you — One." 


THE  END^ 


Butler  &  Tanner,  The  Selwood  Printing  Works,  Frome,  and  London. 


/ 


Mi'   \^u^ 


^a  SOU'-EHN  REGiO'vAl  .I3RARY 


A     000  128  266    4 


